


Royal Red & Ocean Blue

by latchkeychild



Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Background Relationships, Bisexual Sokka (Avatar), Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Gay Zuko (Avatar), Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Minor Aang/Katara, Past Sokka/Suki (Avatar), Red White and Royal Blue AU, Slow Burn, zukka - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-22
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24326746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/latchkeychild/pseuds/latchkeychild
Summary: Sokka, son of the Southern Imiq Tribe’s Chief, and Zuko, Prince of the Kaji Empire, nearly start a war over an incident at the annual Four Nations’ Dinner. Now, with political relations more unsteady than they've been in recent history, the two are forced into a truce to calm the uproar they’ve caused. A mandated friendship is ordered by both affected families — and it’s not a war, but man, it’s like Sokka’s stepped into his own personal nightmare.AKA a Red, White & Royal Blue AU. kinda
Relationships: Sokka/Zuko (Avatar)
Comments: 117
Kudos: 398





	1. Up in Flames

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on god i'm gonna write y'all a cute zukka fic in these trying times  
> red white and royal blue au but i love change (familiarity with the source material not needed!)  
> special thanks and all the sparkle emojis in the world to my critique partner @itwouldbeajoytobringyoutea, who somehow manages to make something coherent out of whatever the heck im doing  
> i also want to thank Dan Kirk, without whom none of this would be possible. what an absolute legend
> 
> Rated T for cursing and light alcohol use

Sokka knows that his natural curiosity combined with his insatiable appetite has the potential to be a danger to himself and others, but he’s never been closer to pushing the bounds on that particular theory than tonight. For one, he's bored. So very, extremely bored. And boredom often results in him walking in a zombie-like state towards the nearest food supply.

That's where things get interesting, because he's at the Four Nations' Dinner — possibly the fanciest dinner party ever hosted, certainly the most important event of the year. And there's food all around, free for the taking. Four long banquet tables encircle the palace's courtyard, each piled high with dishes from all across the globe.

With the entire world at his fingertips, Sokka piles his plate high with egg noodles from the Yin Kingdom, some of his favorite seal roast from the Imiq table, and some whipped cheese from the Vayu monks.

He's never faced with this kind of selection on any other occasion, so he endures the event's formal seriousness and less-than-stellar company for the food alone.

While he devotes his attention to the food, Sokka is doing his best to ignore the drink selection. His best isn't great. He's had a few drinks, if he's being honest. Since turning eighteen nearly a year earlier, he hasn't really used his status as a legal adult to its full capacity. He's seen enough of how drinking tends to play out in his tribe, so he's often a bit more cautious. Tonight, however...

Trial and error has led him to a shortlist of non-offensive liquors. His favorite is a golden drink served in a flute from the monks' table. The calm bald woman who had given it to him had called it sparkling mountain mead. It tastes warm, like melted honey, and has a flowery aftertaste. Sokka's had two glasses since discovering it (plus the taste-testing that had led him there) and has just now grabbed a third glass to bring to his table. 

His dad and Bato aren't sitting down when he gets there — they're probably off being important and talking to officials from the other nations. Katara's there, though, one hand scrolling through her phone and the other holding —

" _Where_ did you get _that_?" Sokka demands. He’s aware that his voice has risen to an unmanly octave, but it’s not important.

Katara raises an eyebrow at his heaping plate as he sits down next to her. “Are you trying to induce a food coma or something?”

Sokka ignores her, completely transfixed. She’s holding what appears to be a fish made of fried dough — and it’s approximately the size of her head.

“This is not the time for jokes, Katara. Where did you find this — this — _masterpiece_?”

Katara rolls her eyes. "Kaji zone," she replies flatly.

Sokka's mood plummets and he groans in obvious, theatrical displeasure.

"What? It's not like their _publicly available_ food is gonna kill you."

"Tell that to my burnt tongue!" Sokka cries as he points at a lump of red on his plate. "This is supposed to be chicken."

Instead of comforting him, Katara just laughs at his misfortune. He's about to defend himself when a figure shuffles up to their table.

His yellow and orange ensemble identifies him as a Vayu monk, and then Sokka recognizes him: he's the kid who made headlines a few years back for being the youngest ordained monk in centuries. He’s even got the traditional ink to prove it, which Sokka respects.

What he doesn’t respect is how this stranger is looking at his sister, all pink cheeks and an awkward smile, a hand rubbing the back of his bald head.

“Hi! I’m Aang. What’s your name?” he asks, looking only at Katara.

She casts Sokka an amused glance before giving the young monk her full attention. “I’m Katara,” she says.

“Sokka,” he adds in an attempt to dissuade him, but it’s about as useful of an interjection as fuck all.

Aang acknowledges Sokka’s existence for almost a full millisecond before turning back to Katara. “I was just wondering —” he leans his body to his right, sheepish. “If you’d maybe wanna dance with me?”

Sokka huffs out a harsh laugh. “Thanks, but no thanks, kiddo. She’s busy.”

Katara glares daggers at him. “ _Actually_ , Aang, I would love to dance with you.” She takes his offered hand and stands.

“Um, hello? Don’t you have a performance to conserve energy for?” Sokka calls out after her.

“It’s one dance, Socks. I’ll be fine,” Katara replies. “I’d worry more about myself if I were you,” she adds, gesturing to his now half-finished mead before she disappears onto the dance floor at the center of the courtyard.

What’s that supposed to mean? Is he acting weird? He is feeling kind of weird, now that he thinks about it. His head movements are heavy, and his eyes are tired, and as much as he would usually despise being stuck in the Kaji palace wearing a fitted three-piece suit, there's a pleasant slowness that now clings to him.

So, okay, he might be a little tipsy.

Sokka lets his eyes wander for the first time all night. He's been so focused on food and faux politeness that he hasn't been able to sneak a proper look around at enemy territory.

He's been in this courtyard once before, actually. It had been his first Four Nations Dinner after his dad had been elected High Chief. Now, five years later, hosting duty has circled back around to the Kaji Empire.

The Four Nations’ Dinners are attended by nobles, leaders, wealthy elites, and the most influential of people.

 _Influential in a non-threatening way_ , Sokka mentally amends. His family wasn't welcome when his parents were out leading marches; they only got the invitation once his dad had acquired a recognized, formal position of power.

As Sokka looks around, he notices a contained fire near the front of the courtyard, closest to the Kaji food table, illuminating an antique and intricately woven tapestry hanging on the castle wall that depicts blue and red dragons encircling one another. At the other end of the courtyard is a raised stage of fine wood with gilded accents and a deep red curtain. The immaculately decorated yard, in addition to everyone's party attire, makes the event so ostentatious that Sokka's becoming nauseated.

It’s either that or the unspecified green mousse from the monks’ table that he's been absentmindedly munching on.

If this were a dinner at the South Pole, he would probably join Katara and her new bald friend at the center of the party. He would _definitely_ join Bato and his dad in their political talks, but he's been banned for being insensitive one too many times.

 _Insensitive_. Sokka snorts. If irony were a person, he would carve her a betrothal necklace to make their relationship official already.

He’s also aware that if the dinner were at the South Pole he wouldn’t be sweating through his layers because of some stubbornly persistent heat and humidity. It’s technically fall — the Four Nations’ Dinner is always held on the first official day of fall — but it’s still one of the warmest evenings that Sokka’s ever experienced. And yet formality demands that he keep his blazer on.

Sokka stops himself from glancing over to where the Kaji people are sitting. There’s a reason that he’d rather be any place else than here, after all. He'd done such a good job blocking the event from his memory that he was blindsided when Katara reminded him about it that morning. He'd had to pack and board the plane in a panicked rush.

The lights dim and the music fades, indicating that everyone should take their seats for the performance. Bato finds his way to their table and sits down next to Sokka.

“We’re up first this year,” he says, as total darkness envelops them.

“Classic. They just want us over and done with.”

“Sokka…”

Bato is cut off as a low hum sounds from behind the curtain and the stage floor glows a deep, dark blue. A chorus of melodic chanting begins, and rows upon rows of Imiq people step onto the stage, singing a haunting traditional tune.

A beautiful, white-haired young woman steps forward, head held high, as the performers around her create a path. Sokka's heart stutters. He's had a hopeless crush on Princess Yue since his first trip to the north as a child.

The northern Chief, Arnook, follows and takes his place on Yue’s left, and Sokka’s father, Hakoda, the Chief of the southern tribe, takes his stance at her right. Both leaders are wearing timeless blue tribal robes with long capes that trail behind them as they move. A drummer plays two booming beats, and Yue, Arnook, and Hakoda begin to sing their own melody.

Two more drum beats, and the ribbon dancers take over the ground in front of the stage. Sokka can see Katara twirling and swaying with the music, fully absorbed in her movements, and a wave of pride washes over him.

The dancers’ story this year is an act of unity in strife. Usually, a nation’s performance would showcase the different cultures and strengths within the large expanse of their country, but this year Hakoda has managed to bring north and south together to weave one specific tale; to highlight the threat of rising waters in Imiq communities.

Well, it was technically Sokka’s idea, but his dad had been the mouthpiece.

What begins as a peaceful tune slowly grows in intensity as the dancers raise blue ribbons over their heads and start to shake them violently. Several dancers ascend onto the stage, and the singing becomes loud and desperate and chilling.

The remaining dancers join the others on the platform, and the whole performance stops abruptly when they overtake the entirety of the space. The lights illuminate the frozen figures for one long, final moment before fading away.

He wonders if the Kaji Emperor understands the production. Come to think of it, he wonders if any of these pampered people understand it. He shoots a glare directly toward the Kaji tables.

And finds the fried fish pastry jackpot.

He jumps up, downs the rest of his mead, and starts to set out for the dessert of a lifetime.

Bato grabs his arm. "Where are you going?" he asks.

"Fishing,” Sokka replies. “Be right back."

He heads off, dodging seats and tables like they're ice blockades in the river at the start of summer. 

He's done this countless times. Just one objective: catch a fish.

Of course, out here in enemy waters, it isn’t so easy.

The fucking _crown prince of the Kaji Empire_ and his emotionless girlfriend are in front of the food table, just standing there taking up space and breathing.

"And you told me no one would bother getting food during the performances," the girl says.

Sokka ignores her deadpan and grabs the nearest pastry.

"This guy always manages to make these dinners interesting somehow," the prince responds, his voice betraying a smug smile.

"Hey, I'm just here to get some fish," Sokka says, throwing his arms up in an aggressive shrug, his newly-acquired dessert clutched in his hand.

“You mean _taiyaki_?” the prince asks.

Man, he’s so irritating. Sokka can’t help rolling his eyes.

 _Prince Zuko_.

The right side of his face could _maybe_ pass for classically handsome by Kaji standards: sharp jaw, soft skin, angular amber eye a complementary match to the fine cut of a cheekbone below, and a long line of a nose that dips into a small, rounded point.

The left side is a different story altogether. The rough pinks, whites, and reds of burnt flesh paint a broad stroke across his left eye, a weak and permanently half-lidded ghost of its brother, and his dark, pinned-up hair does nothing to hide a ruined ear. Rumors of a failed assassination attempt only strengthen his image as a stoic prince in the minds of the Kaji people and foreigners alike. There’s a dark whisper in the back of Sokka's thoughts that hopes it had hurt.

"Aren't you from the Imiq tribe?” the girl asks. Sokka remembers now that her name is Mai or something. He's not a fan. “That performance sounded so… loud." 

_Sounded?_

“So you guys weren’t even watching?”

“It’s not like you’re paying rapt attention to the Yin Kingdom right now,” Zuko says.

Sokka turns to look at the stage, but he must move too quickly because he’s lightheaded all of a sudden. Once he gathers himself, he can tell from the green stage lights that the other nation has already started their performance.

Huh. How’d he miss that?

He’s vaguely aware of some sort of movement beside him. He whips his head back and — woah, yeah, he’s _definitely_ feeling dizzy.

Zuko whispers something in Mai’s ear, and then the two start to walk toward the closest palace entrance.

“Hey! That’s not the point!” Sokka calls out as he chases after them.

 _The point is_ that he’d missed Sokka’s direct message to the Emperor. _The point is_ that he’d missed Katara’s dance.

He grabs onto the red silk of Zuko’s shirtsleeve, and then loses all sense of balance entirely.

He’s aware that he’s falling only when he feels a firm hand grasp his shoulder. With one hand caught in Zuko’s sleeve, the other scrabbles along the palace wall for anything to grab. His fingers latch onto something soft but sturdy before everything comes tumbling down.

The first thing he notices is the poor, discarded pastry on the floor next to him. Its pouty fish lips only add to the ridiculousness of the situation.

The next thing he notices is Prince Zuko lying on top of him, looking over Sokka’s shoulder with a haunted expression. Sokka’s never seen anyone look so terrified. He follows Zuko’s gaze.

 _Oh_. Oh no.

The thing that Sokka had clung onto while falling had been the ancient dragon tapestry.

It had collapsed to the floor along with Sokka and Zuko, and the top of it had fallen into the fire, flames already consuming the priceless piece of art.

Sokka gulps.

Above him, he hears Zuko mutter under his breath, “ _Oh my fucking spirits_.”

The flash of a camera goes off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm white so lmk if something doesn't sit right!  
> i don't know what this says i can't read but i hope u like it  
> holding myself accountable i'm @llamora on tumblr  
> see ya soon, babes~


	2. Whispers of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> shoutout to casey mcquiston for providing the structural heavy lifting here. i promise this will all go off the rails v soon
> 
> also i've read y'all's comments but idk how to respond!!! ily!!!!!!!

“Any concerns about former political protester Hakoda Niatok maintaining a professional role as the High Chief of the Southern Imiq Tribe are justified as we reel from last night’s events.”

Bato is pacing the floor of Hakoda’s office, reading from his phone and aiming the occasional glower toward Sokka.

“The son of the man who has spent his career inciting riots against the mutually-beneficial Kaji oil drills in the South Pole has, evidently, inherited his father’s same drive for violence.”

“ _Riots_ ?” Sokka asks, incredulous. “And I don’t really think you can call _tripping_ a violent offense—”

“After a particularly agenda-pushing performance from the Imiq,” Bato continues, barreling straight through Sokka’s objections, “the son of the Chief, Sokka Niatok, decided to take matters into his own hands. In an attempt to further disgrace Emperor Ozai at his own event, the young man used the moment of distraction that the Yin Kingdom’s performance provided to vandalize a timeless work of Kaji culture. Our brave heir, Prince Zuko—”

“Oh, _come the fuck on_.”

“ _Prince Zuko_ , valiantly attempted to protect this piece of our history. _The Tale of the Two Dragons_ will forever live on in our spirits, as its legacy is sure to outlast even this tragedy,” Bato finishes.

They’re both facing him: Bato, standing, wearing a far stricter expression than Sokka can ever remember seeing, and Hakoda, sitting opposite Sokka at his desk, eyes heavy and sleepless.

Of course, Sokka has read the articles, too. Every single one of them features the same photo of Sokka pinned to the floor, the first moments of shock dawning on his face, and Zuko hovering above him, the orange glow of firelight reflecting in his horrified, amber eyes.

He’s read every article from every nation, tuned into every newscast, seen every so-called hot take posted on social media; he knows each country’s stance by heart.

“That’s interesting, Bato. I wouldn’t take you for an avid reader of Kaji propaganda,” Sokka says. “Last time I checked, His Royal Heinous pushed _me_ into the tapestry after taking offense to a _moving and inspiring_ performance.”

How typical for the Kaji Empire to only care about the art piece. Sokka thinks it’s conceited. Obviously art is valuable and losing an age-old work to two flailing idiots is a tragedy or whatever, but there are other factors at play here.

This event is shining a new light on the injustices inflicted on Sokka’s people at the hands of Zuko’s for centuries. The Tribes’ media has completely and fearlessly laid into it, an overlooked hook finally supplied with bait enough to snag a catch.

“Sokka,” his father begins, and it’s the first time he’s spoken up all morning. “ _Please_ tell me you’re aware of how serious of a situation this is.”

“It was just a glorified curtain—”

“ _Wars_ have been started for less,” Hakoda pushes.

Sokka shuts up.

Obviously he understands the severity of the event. If it hadn’t already been made clear from the masterclass in tense, awkward silence that had plagued the plane ride back to the South Pole earlier that morning, it would be evident from where he’s sitting right now.

Sokka is barred from the Chief’s office except in the case of an emergency. Ever since their mother’s death, Hakoda has flung himself into his work. It had become even worse when Hakoda had been elected High Chief when Sokka was thirteen, and personal relations started taking a backseat to international.

“First, the gutsy performance idea. And now, this.” Hakoda sighs and rests his chin in his hand.

“We agreed on the performance,” Sokka attempts.

“The _performance idea_ ,” Hakoda says, “was brilliant. Just sensitive. But then you decided to vandalize their tapestry.”

“I didn’t _decide_ to do anything!” Sokka cries. “The sucky Kaji party planners _decided_ to place a ball of yarn near an open flame!”

“That’s not how the Kaji see it.” His father takes a large folder from a desk drawer and tucks it underneath his arm. Sokka’s stomach flips as he reads the label on the cover: AGREEMENT OF TERMS. 

“I have about five hundred meetings today because of this. So here’s what we’re gonna do. You—”

Sokka swallows hard at Hakoda’s intense glare.

“—are going to make nice with Prince Zuko. You’re leaving for Caldera first thing tomorrow.”

Sokka gapes, blinking dumbly up at the two men. “Come on, really? Couldn’t I just fake my own death?”

“I really am _very_ busy,” Hakoda says as he stands up, “so Bato will have to brief you on the rest.” He crosses the room and pauses as he nears Sokka, taking the opportunity to rough up his son’s hair, ruining his wolftail. “You are so smart, and yet so, so dumb. This was a blunder, but I trust that you’ll be able to work it out.”

Once Hakoda is out of the room, Bato collapses into the desk chair, hands first rubbing at his eyes before running through his hair. “Well, this certainly surpasses any shenanigans your father ever managed to get us into.”

Sokka groans and drops his head onto the desk. “Do I really have to go back to Caldera?”

“ _Yes_ , Sokka, you do. I had to stay up all night making sure this won’t damage Hakoda's career more than we can handle. If you want to fix your father’s reputation, you’ll follow the plan set out for you. Do you think you can do that?”

Sokka really, really hates this, but he’d hate it even more if his father had to step down because of him. He sits up and nods.

“Good. The Imiq board and the Kaji council are releasing a joint statement today saying that what happened at the Four Nations’ Dinner was a complete accident and misunderstanding—”

“Which it _was_.”

“—and that, despite rarely having time to see each other, you and Prince Zuko have been close friends for several years.”

Sokka chokes. “I’m sorry, we’ve been _what_ now?”

“I know, but it must be done,” Bato says, his voice hoarse. He must have been talking on the phone for hours. “Both sides here need to clear the air. If it makes you feel any better, the prince is getting the same talking-to right now. I guess it took an international incident to finally bring Kaji’s unethical oil drilling to the forefront of the other nations’ news. We can work with that, but you have to _play nice_. The consequences on our side are, as always, much steeper. So you can hate the prince all you want, in private. But the moment you're in public, or you see a camera, you act like he’s your favorite person in the whole world. Got it?”

“Have you met Zuko? He’s such a— such a—” Sokka grasps for the right word. “A _douche canoe_.” He snaps his fingers at the realization, pleased with himself for finding the exact term to describe Zuko. 

“Oh, I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware you had a choice in the matter,” Bato deadpans. “Or am I mistaken? Do you actually want to jeopardize the influence of the first Imiq chief who’s taking an active and substantial stand against environmental imperialism?”

_Not in a million years._

Reflecting on it, Sokka can appreciate that maybe from an outsider’s perspective this is a foolproof plan. One that _he_ might’ve come up with, if he weren’t stuck being a pawn.

Bato takes his silence for the dejected agreement that it is. “Right, so, you’re each other’s best friend. You will visit him in Caldera and smile non-threateningly and genuinely apologize about the tapestry. And he will come here and pretend he cares about the poor, poor Imiq people that are suffering because of Hakoda’s terrible leadership and not because of any external forces, _what could you possibly be talking about_? And all will return to normal except, now, we may actually have a shred of a chance to get our perspective across nation lines. Oh, and—” He slides a sheet of paper to Sokka. “In order to play the part, you’re going to have to be convincing.”

Sokka looks down and reads: _Prince Zuko of the Kaji Empire: Fact Sheet._

He collapses back onto the desk.

* * *

Suki crashes into him the second he steps into the den.

“You” — she pulls out of the fervent embrace and smacks him on the head, and he’s lucky he’s more friend than foe at the moment — “ _absolute_ moron.”

“Good to see you, too.”

He remembers when he first met her, two years prior. They had both been sixteen at the time, but somehow Suki had been making waves in the activist undercurrent of the Yin Kingdom while Sokka had been playing the same three video games over and over.

The first time she had shown up to a pipeline protest in the South Pole, Sokka had somehow managed to confuse his jealousy and his attraction to her and come across as a total piece of shit. He honestly couldn't believe that at their next meeting, after an awkward apology on his part, they had eased into a flirtatious banter.

She was easy to fall for, but they had both known on some level that their relationship would be a short-lived, adolescent fling. Sokka was so relieved that they had stayed friends after the split, especially because she had started interning in Hakoda’s offices in the South Pole. Being a bitter ex for that would not have been fun.

“How’d dad look?” Katara asks. She’s lounging on their seal leather couch, a worried line between her brows.

Sokka avoids her eye. “Tired. Overworked.” And he’s to blame. Suki’s right: he _is_ an absolute moron.

He sits down and tells them everything.

“—but on the bright side,” Sokka wraps up with an over-exaggerated smile and waves the sheet of paper Bato had given him in the air, “I get to learn all about the life and times of _prince pompous pentapus_.”

“Oh, I am _so_ jealous,” Katara teases. He’s relieved that she caught his attempt to lighten the mood and ran with it.

“Who knows? He may surprise you,” Suki offers, though her laugh contradicts her. “Maybe he’s secretly a saint.”

“I’m sure he’s just _lovely_ ,” Katara says. “That list is probably chock-full of redeeming qualities.”

Sokka looks down at the paper, eyes landing on Zuko's portrait in the top right corner. His posture is straight, his expression neutral, his royal silks all _royal_ and _silky_.

"It seems like when he’s not busy being an asshole, he’s just… stuffy," Sokka says.

"Aw, see?" Suki coos. " _Stuffy_. You already have the perfect pet-name for him."

Sokka snorts and skims the rest of the page. Most of the stuff he knows already. After their first meeting when they were thirteen, Sokka had obsessively scoured the internet trying to understand just who the hell Zuko thought he was. 

_The spoiled son of the Kaji Emperor_ , the internet had answered back.

Most of the information on the sheet is pretty basic. Father: Emperor Ozai. Mother: Empress Ursa. Siblings: a younger sister, Princess Azula. The only things listed that he hadn’t already known are trivial, like his favorite food. (Yakisoba, whatever that is. From the blandness of the rest of what he’s reading, Sokka’s surprised it isn’t plain white rice).

“You think they made one of these fact sheets about me?” Sokka asks, trying to distract himself.

“Oh no, now the prince will know about your secret stash of jerky,” Suki deadpans.

“ _How do you know about my secret stash of jerky_?”

“Or that you wait until you’re on your last pair of clean clothes before you finally cave and do your laundry,” Katara adds. “On the _second day_ of wearing said clothes.”

“Hey, I stand by that method,” Sokka says. “Sorry you girls can’t handle my manly odor.”

They both groan, but their annoyance quickly turns into fits of laughter.

"Hey, look," Katara says after all three recover. Her expression has sobered slightly, but a glint of mischief still remains in her eye. "I know this sucks, but I'll literally text you everything, down to the nitty-gritty details of Gran-Gran's toenail clippings, okay?”

"That is so disgusting," Sokka says. "But now I'm invested."

"For your part, you have to leak every dirty secret of Kaji royalty you manage to dig up." 

Huh. Sokka had been so busy complaining about his predicament that he hadn't even thought of that. Leave it to his sister to find the silver lining in all this.

"Like I _wouldn't_. You'll be the first to hear it, I promise." Sokka returns Katara’s smile.

“Hey, no fair!” Suki cries. “You’re playing family favorites. I’ll give you the news straight from Hakoda’s offices, if you’re trading in foreign confidentials.”

Sokka’s head snaps to her. “Suki, really? You’ll keep me informed?”

“Sure thing,” she says, and then laughs at the expression on Sokka’s face and adds, “Dork.” 

He's relieved to know that, after this mess blows over, he'll at least have them to come back to.

* * *

Caldera is just as insufferably hot as it had been two nights before, now with the added bonus of unrelenting sunlight. How Kaji citizens go about their days calling this fall weather, Sokka can’t begin to understand.

What with the heat and the fact that he’s intentionally heading for a meeting with Prince Zuko, Sokka has resigned himself to an experience even more awful than the Four Nations’ Dinner.

He scours his surroundings: camera equipment, lighting set-ups, tarps to block the sun, a handful of techies, and a gaggle of journalists — but no sign of the prince.

Out of the corner of his wandering eye, he notices that an old man is beckoning for Sokka to join him at a table under the main tent.

Sokka crosses the grassy field of the park (the historic park of downtown Caldera, which is apparently the perfect place to start off a pathetic apology tour with the heir to the country’s throne) and accepts the seat across from the stranger.

“Sokka of the Southern Imiq Tribe,” the man says as a greeting. "Ginseng or jasmine?”

Sokka blinks at the tea set at the man’s side and wonders whether this is a Kaji custom or if the man brought the tea for himself.

“Uh,” he stutters. “Jasmine, I guess? I’m sorry, who are you?” 

“My name is Iroh. Prince Zuko is my nephew.”

But that can’t be right; this man’s gentle smile is the antithesis to Zuko’s constant, constipated expression. Sokka coughs in disbelief.

“How are you enjoying the Kaji Empire so far?” Iroh asks as he pours tea into a small clay cup and sets it in front of Sokka. “Please, drink.”

Sokka does not want to tell this kind, old man how much he loathes his homeland. “It’s… nice. The weather,” he attempts, picking up the cup of tea and swirling it around just to have something to do with his hands, “is, um, not cold.”

He tries to swallow his stupidity with a mouthful of tea, and is met with the most beautiful blend of herbs he’s ever tasted.

" _Woah_.” He can't keep the awe out of his voice. “Are you, like, a tea wizard or something?”

Iroh throws his head back in a laugh, and Sokka feels the tension he's been holding in his shoulders since setting foot on Kaji soil melt away.

“Making tea is not a magical art,” Iroh says, pouring himself another cup. “It is a practical skill, like any other. I’ve spent many years crafting my recipes, learning about different herbs and spices from all four corners of the world, applying a multitude of skills from different artisans I met along the way. And only through that hard work—”

He lifts his cup to look into the liquid within.

“—am I able to share my homemade blend with you. But if I weren’t determined, or if I had relied on fate alone, we wouldn’t be drinking tea now at all. Or we’d be having a pot of the flavorless, store-bought leaves. I don’t know which is the worse thought.”

Iroh takes a sip, and Sokka is left even more confused than he was when the conversation began.

“You’re sure you’re Zuko’s uncle? I heard that right?” Sokka asks. 

“My nephew is a troubled young man,” Iroh says, his eyes fond for someone talking about _Zuko_ of all people. “He does not always say exactly what he means.”

With that, he pulls a thick folder out from behind the tea set and places it before Sokka. The cover reads, in thick type: NONDISCLOSURE AGREEMENT

Sokka’s jaw drops as he picks it up and flips through it. He’s never even _heard_ of an NDA this long.

“You’re kidding, right? This thing is a million pages long!” It’s more like fifteen, but who’s counting.

“The higher up in nobility, the lengthier the documents,” Iroh offers as an amused explanation.

Sokka attempts to read through it, but he can’t even get past the first paragraph. It’s just brick wall after brick wall of the most boring text ever put to paper.

 _Blah, blah, blah, blah_. He makes a mental note to apologize to Katara and Suki for not holding up his end of the deal, even if it was just a joke. He wonders if, after he’s signed this, he’ll be allowed to talk to _anyone_ about _anything_ regarding prince butthead. Still, there's nothing that could deter him from making jokes at Zuko’s expense, not even the wrath of an entire country. He’s already decided to tell Katara everything about this afternoon once he’s out of the park, anyway.

As he signs and initials on the appropriate dotted lines, a murmur goes through the crowd of gathered journalists. Sokka lifts his eyes to the source of the disturbance.

Prince Zuko has arrived and is standing in the shade of a black pine tree at the park entrance.

It seems as if everyone had been waiting on Zuko, because in an instant the photographer is ushering Sokka and Zuko in front of her camera. Sokka thinks back to all the times in his life he’d been berated for being late to things much more trivial than this, and has to stop himself from scowling at Zuko's arrogance.

 _The moment you're in public, or you see a camera, you act like he’s your favorite person in the whole world_ , Bato had told him.

Easier said than done.

Sokka puts on the biggest smile of his life as the Kaji prince inches nearer. Zuko looks rough, dark purple smudges under his red-rimmed eyes, both standing out against his pale skin. He’s not even making an effort to appear friendly.

“Well, you look sober,” Zuko says, holding his hand out for the picture and finally forcing a grin.

“Well, _you_ look dead,” Sokka forces out through gritted teeth as he accepts the handshake. Standing this close, Sokka notices that he’s a bit taller than Zuko. He’s smugly satisfied by this.

For the second time that week, the click of a camera seals their image forever.

* * *

Once the photo shoot is over, both boys practically collapse in relief and begin to head their separate ways. Zuko joins his uncle under the white tent and Sokka... Well, it’s done, right? He should probably go.

As Sokka passes the tent on his way out of the park, Iroh softly calls his name and Sokka turns to look at him. Zuko’s sitting down where Sokka had been, looking at his phone. “Do you have a place to stay while you’re here?” Iroh asks.

Sokka grimaces, thinking back to how he'd denied financial help from his dad before boarding the plane. It had felt like the right thing to do at the time, but that was before he'd found out how expensive hotel rooms in Caldera are.

“I’ll figure something out,” he says.

“There’s no need for that,” Iroh insists, beaming. “I have a spare guest room. You can stay there.”

“Uncle...” Zuko shifts his attention from his phone to frown at Iroh.

So he doesn’t even appreciate his tea-making, room-offering uncle? What a prick.

“I don’t know,” Sokka hedges, glancing away and rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s no trouble,” Iroh assures him. “You could help me with the flavor profile of the new blend I’m crafting.”

Sokka perks up. “Really?”

Iroh nods, and Zuko drops his head into his hands and groans.

Iroh stands and gestures for Sokka to leave the tent with him. “Come along, then.” After they’ve taken only a few steps, Zuko stands from the table and begins to follow. Sokka shoots a confused glance over his shoulder, but Iroh continues to walk serenely even though he must hear his nephew walking behind them. 

_What is Zuko doing?_ Sokka wonders. _Is he trying to intimidate me? Or is he trying to be really polite by escorting me to my lodging or whatever?_

Sokka stews in silence for a full minute before he breaks. He abruptly stops walking and turns on his heel to face Zuko. Zuko must have closed the gap between them while Sokka had been thinking, because when Sokka turns around Zuko almost collides with him. Zuko rears back, eyes wide with surprise and something else. Embarrassment? 

“Shit! Sorry,” says Sokka. “I didn’t realize you were right there.” 

Zuko gathers himself. “It’s fine. You just startled me.”

They both stand facing each other in silence for a moment. 

“Did you—” Zuko starts before trailing off. “Did you need something?”

“What?” Sokka asks, puzzled. “Oh! Yeah. I was just going to say that you don’t have to escort me to Iroh’s place or whatever.”

Zuko stares at him blankly. 

“I don’t know if it’s a cultural thing, or if you’re just trying to be nice,” Sokka continues in a hurry, “but it’s really okay. I’m sure Iroh can handle it, and you probably have other stuff to do.”

Zuko is looking at him strangely. “I’m not escorting you to Iroh’s house, Sokka. I live with him.”

With that, Zuko heads off across the grass to where Iroh has paused, leaving Sokka to stare after him, open-mouthed. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bro i'm looking u directly in the eyes. i love you thanks for reading bro.
> 
> EDIT: this note previously said that this fic will update Fridays, then my mental state spiraled out of control due to, you know, the world. I'm planning on writing this for julynowrimo and then returning to y'all w a completed fic :)


	3. Offense Lessons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did i do julynowriomo? no babes. is this finished? uhhh no again but i'm wayyy ahead. wanted to give y'all an update bc i love you <3  
> enjoy this previously cursed chapter. you won't know why it was cursed tho bc editing is something u can do to un-curse your writing, hot tip

A loud, insistent banging startles Sokka awake.

"Wake up, beauty sleep!" an unfamiliar voice, childlike but aggressive, yells as the pounding continues. "You and the hothead have an interview to get ready for!"

Sokka forces his eyes open and sees an unfamiliar room, feels soft blankets, smells fresh linens. 

Oh, right. His new home. He grumbles and rolls over, but over-estimates the size of the mattress and falls flat on his ass on the hardwood floor.

"If you miss it, it's your own fault," the voice says, and then heavy footsteps stomp down the stairs.

_Why is there an aggressive child in Iroh's house_? Sokka knows that Zuko — Zuko, _the crown prince of the Kaji empire and the heir to the throne_ — lives here, even if he doesn't know _why_ and it’s _stressing him out_ , but it didn't seem like anyone else was in the house with them last night. Admittedly, he hadn’t been very observant; once Sokka, Iroh, and Zuko had arrived after the photoshoot, Sokka had very deliberately stayed in his guest room. It wasn’t hiding. It was _strategic_. 

He had texted Katara about the crisis shortly after arriving, but the only response he’d received had been one long string of cry-laughing emojis.

Sokka realizes that sitting on the ground and staring at the closed door is a bit unproductive, so he stands to get changed. He didn't pack much, but he knew about the interview in advance so he made sure to bring a nice outfit. He dresses in a white button-down, dark blue trousers, and a dark blue suit jacket with lighter blue waves embroidered on the lapels. Once dressed, he uses the guest bathroom across the hall to brush his teeth and sets off down the stairs.

This is already the weirdest day of his life.

When Sokka walks into the kitchen, Iroh is sticking his head into the refrigerator, a girl with bangs covering half her face is reaching for a plate in a kitchen cabinet, and Zuko is sitting at the table drinking tea. He’s dressed in a black haori over a dark grey dress shirt, his signature golden hairpiece tucked into his bun, and he’s focused on his phone, not contributing anything to the bustling world around him.

"Good morning," Iroh says, having turned from the fridge, a jar of some sort of chunky condiment in hand. "Make yourself a plate. This food isn’t going to eat itself."

Sokka looks at the spread on the stove: white rice steamed into a thick porridge, a bowl full of an unknown pickled fruit, long strips of fish grilled in searing-hot oil, and a pan of lightly-scrambled eggs smothered in a thin, brown sauce.

Sokka has never seen a breakfast look anything like this. He takes a plate from where the stranger had gotten one earlier and covers it with strange, new food.

He joins the rest of what he thinks is a rather odd gathering of people at the table (in the seat furthest away from Zuko) and takes a tentative bite of everything. Surprisingly, nothing sets fire to his taste buds; maybe some Kaji food is tolerable, after all. He starts stuffing his face.

Sokka can't remember the last time he's been this quiet at a meal, and he's uncomfortably aware of the fact that he doesn't know one of his temporary housemate's names.

When the thought of not knowing this piece of information becomes unbearable, he tries to introduce the topic naturally by saying, slightly too loudly, "I'm Sokka, by the way." 

“I know,” the mystery teenager responds through a mouthful of fish and rice. "You gonna eat something, Zukes, or just brood?" She jerks her head towards Zuko, and Sokka sees that under her bangs her eyes are cloudy, grey, and directionless. 

So she's _not_ going to introduce herself, then. Great.

“I’m not hungry,” Zuko replies.

“Prince Zuko,” Iroh says. “You should join us, taste the fruits of your labor.”

Sokka coughs and nearly spits out his current mouthful. _Zuko made this_?

“I’m fine,” the prince says, glaring at Sokka as he recovers from his outburst. He doesn’t _look_ fine; his under-eye circles are even darker than they had been the day before, and not even his formal outfit can distract from something as glaring as that. He rises from his seat, still looking at Sokka. “There’s a car waiting outside. Your sleeping in is going to make us late.”

Zuko turns toward the front door and stalks out of the house.

The interview is at noon. _How late did I sleep?_ Sokka wonders as he pulls out his phone and checks the time: 10:52.

_Shit_.

He scarfs down the rest of the meal, rushes his plate into the sink, and flies through the door after Zuko.

“Don’t set anything on fire this time!” the kid shouts after him.

As Sokka hurries to the end of the driveway, Zuko slides into the back seat of a sleek black car, the door held open by a chauffeur. A bodyguard gestures him in after Zuko and closes the door behind him. 

Sokka tenses. He’s extremely aware of the space between himself and Zuko, or, more accurately, the lack thereof; there’s barely an excuse for a seat separating them.

The ride is as silent as breakfast had been, and Sokka is once again the one to break it.

“So, um. Who was that girl in there?”

Zuko startles and turns his gaze from the window toward Sokka, before dropping it to his hands folded in his lap.

“Her name is Toph,” he answers.

“Oh,” Sokka says, uselessly. A few seconds pass. “She lives with you?”

“My uncle has a knack for taking in strays, it seems.” Something like a smile curls on the corner of the Zuko’s mouth. Sokka looks away.

He wants to ask the main question on his mind, which is _Why do_ you _live with Iroh_ , but he also wants to save his sanity by talking to Zuko only when it’s absolutely necessary. It’s difficult, but he holds his tongue.

* * *

They arrive to a mass of people gathered outside the news station. It’s a swarm of pushing and pulling, camera flashes, and shouting muffled by the military-grade car windows.

The bodyguard opens the door on Zuko's side.

"There’s a crowd of journalists outside, your highness," the Kaji woman says. "Stay at my side."

Dread settles into Sokka’s stomach.

Zuko gives a short nod and accepts his handler's aid as he steps out into the bright sunlight.

The guard completely abandons Sokka, which is rude since he's basically the guest of the entire country right now. Shouldn't they be trying to earn _his_ respect just as much as he's trying to earn theirs? He’s being forced, but still.

He catches up to Zuko and realizes that their expressions are the same: sullen and irritated.

He regrets it as he's doing it, but Sokka throws his arm over Zuko's shoulders and grins.

The prince immediately tenses up.

"You have to act like you like me, remember?" Sokka whispers into his ear.

There is no response beyond Zuko’s eye widening. He’s not even looking at Sokka. 

Sokka has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He has to sell this act or face serious global consequences, and he's stuck with a shitty costar. Brilliant.

_Guess what, Zuko? These assholes are judging me for even being born, so I’m gonna need you to be my best buddy right about now._

Somehow, despite all the chaos that has led them here, they're escorted into the building without issue.

* * *

The interviewers are pretty much what Sokka had imagined Kaji newscasters to look like: a man and a woman in their mid-thirties, both reasonably good-looking with pitch-black hair styled into topknots, both sporting sharp business-formal clothing.

Sokka and Zuko are seated next to each other on a couch. If this proximity thing is going to be a recurring theme throughout this ordeal, Sokka doesn’t know how long he can maintain his cheery, best friend act.

Whoever did Zuko’s makeup deserves a raise, because despite how tired Zuko had come in looking, he now looks fresh, alert, and nothing short of regal. 

After a brief introduction, the female host turns to Sokka. "How are you enjoying your stay in the Kaji Empire, Sokka?" she asks with an artificial smile.

"Oh, it's just great," Sokka enthuses. "Every time I come here I find something new to fall in love with: the tropical beaches, the spicy food, the weird bird species." The lies roll off his tongue as if they’re universal truths. “And of course, it’s always great to see this guy.”

He turns to Zuko, extending a fist. Zuko hesitates before bumping his own knuckles against Sokka’s, looking like he’s performing an act of treason.

The hosts ask both Sokka and Zuko several filler questions before broaching the reason Sokka is here. The female host turns to him and says, "Sokka, there are a lot of people out there who think that you pulled _The Tale of the Two Dragons_ into the fire on purpose. What do you have to say to them?"

Neutrality is part of this woman’s job description, but Sokka swears there's a twitch to her mouth as she says this. She's probably waiting to see how he manages to fuck this up.

"I'd say that they must not know what it's like to get drunk with your best friend and wind up doing something stupid that you’ll regret the next day. Or, at least," Sokka adds, carrying the act home by elbowing the prince in the arm, "they haven't partied with _this_ wild character."

Zuko attempts a laugh, but it's as awkward and stiff as Sokka expected.

The newscaster nods and looks to her male counterpart for his next question. 

"Your Royal Highness, how do you respond to the influx of politically-charged vitriol directed toward you by citizens of the Imiq tribes?” the man asks.

Sokka fights to keep his expression in check. He knows that Kaji news is heavily biased, but being in the thick of it is a whole different story. 

"I do not take the concerns of the Imiq people lightly," Zuko says. "As a member of the Kaji royal family, it is my responsibility to recognize how my actions affect the people of both my own nation and others. Even though what transpired on the night of the Four Nations' Dinner was an accident, I will carry the lessons I've learned from it with me into the future, and seek to understand perspectives across borders.”

Sokka blinks. He had been expecting something much worse. Zuko had spoken with the strong sense of Kaji superiority, sure, but at least he’d mentioned the Imiq instead of focusing on his wounded ego. As he is asked another question, Sokka has to remind himself that the response was probably scripted by the prince’s media team to cater to both sides.

* * *

They’re walking down the hallway of the studio after the interview when shouting begins outside, muffled slightly by the large double doors ahead of them.

The walkie talkie on Zuko’s guard’s belt hisses to life.

_“We need backup outside. Secure the Prince in a safe location. Over.”_

Before either Zuko or Sokka can react to what they’ve just heard, they’re being pushed into the nearest room.

The nearest room, which happens to be a storage closet.

The guard shoves them inside and darkness engulfs them as she closes the door behind them. Sokka stumbles over a mop and one of Zuko's legs, and both boys crash to the floor. 

Zuko hits the ground first and Sokka lands on top of him.

"You know," Sokka says, raising a brow, "we have got to stop ending up like this."

"Would you” — Zuko struggles below him — “ _get off of me_?"

"If _you'd_ like to move over, Your Highness, you can go right ahead."

Zuko huffs and attempts to disentangle their limbs, but the closet is so cramped that Sokka is forced to shuffle away as well.

"You know, everyone keeps asking me how I’m liking your country,” Sokka muses as he tries to find a comfortable position. Once they're sitting shoulder to shoulder against the least cluttered wall, he continues. “Well, I’m enjoying _plenty_ of new experiences. How I'm currently dodging an attempt on my life, for instance. Never done that before."

“Don’t be stupid. That’s not what’s happening,” Zuko says, but he’s frowning and he doesn’t sound sure. He attempts to cross his arms over his chest, but his elbow hits a broom and there's a domino effect of crashing and banging.

Sokka drops his face into his hands. "Great,” he groans. “I'm gonna die in here with you."

"We’re not going to die. Ming is employed for my safety," Zuko whispers, sharp and annoyed. Sokka finds it odd that Zuko calls her by her name — he’d always had the impression that royals view guards as throwaways. "And, for the record, no one's ever tried to kill me either until _you_ came in and drunkenly _tripped over your own foot_."

That snaps Sokka right out of his racing thoughts. He jerks his head up to gawk at Zuko.

"But— I thought— The assassination attempt—"

Zuko's eyes flash and he looks like he wants to run, but since they're trapped he settles for darting his eyes away from Sokka’s.

"Don't believe everything you hear," he mutters.

"But then how did you— " Sokka starts, his mouth moving faster than his mind, but stops at Zuko's glare. _Of course he wouldn't want to talk about something like that_. He mentally slaps himself.

They sit in strained silence for a long time. Sokka could live in the quiet of the woods during hunting season, deeply focused while stalking his prey, but this kind of quiet — of ignoring another person, of not saying what he’s thinking — makes him restless.

He scooches across the floor to press his ear to the door and waits until he’s sure he can’t hear any footsteps or shouting. Then, he whispers, "What do you think’s going on out there, anyway? A bunch of assholes kicking up a fuss because they think accidental arson is a hobby of mine?"

Zuko grimaces. “People have a right to be angry, you know. You _did_ destroy the tapestry, even if it wasn’t on purpose.”

“Your people’s values are all out of whack,” Sokka says, shaking his head.

“It was an important piece of our culture and history,” Zuko hisses, struggling to keep his voice quiet. “A timeless relic that’s been passed down from generation to generation, turned to ash by some _foreign moron_ at a dinner party. If I weren’t stuck in here with you, _fixing your mess_ , I’d be out there, too!”

_Fixing my mess?_ Sokka thinks, in shock. " _Fixing my mess_?" he says, in shock. "Wow, thank you, your _princeliness_. I didn’t realize you were so concerned about my reputation. Especially considering the fact that we wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for _you_ ignoring the performance I came up with.”

“Spirits that’s—” Zuko starts, pinching the bridge of his nose. Then he processes the rest of Sokka’s comment and says, “What do you mean that _you_ came up with?”

“It was my idea,” Sokka bites out.

Zuko grunts out a laugh. “Great,” he says, dropping his head to his bent knees. “That’s just great. So you’ve doubly fucked me over, then.”

Sokka pushes past his surprise at hearing Zuko curse so freely. “Oh, what’s wrong, your Majesty?” He widens his eyes and feigns sympathy. “Afraid that your tyrant of a dad is occasionally gonna face criticism for his actions?”

Zuko’s head jerks up and he scowls. “Convinced that some ribbon dancing will change his mind?” Zuko asks, imitating Sokka’s condensing tone, the last remnants of his royal facade falling away here in the darkness of the closet.

Sokka bites back the first ten things he thinks ( _arrogant dickhead, fuck you, I can’t believe I have to be in here_ ) and finally says, as evenly as he can, “It’s a start.”

“It’s _naive_ ,” Zuko spits. “Nothing that you or your father or anyone else does will make any kind of difference, so it would be better for everyone involved if you just _stop trying_.”

Sokka freezes in place, ears ringing in the silence that follows.

“And it’s not _your_ reputation I’m worried about, if you can believe it,” Zuko adds.

In fact, Sokka _can_ believe it. “Oh, yes, your reputation as a prince. It must be so difficult to convince your people that you’re not an asshole. I’m sorry this is such an _inconvenience_ for you.”

Zuko glowers. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“Literally everyone knows _everything_ about you! Your life is public knowledge, probably required reading in the propaganda factories your country calls schools.” Sokka is no longer bothering to whisper, his mind stuck on _stop trying, stop trying, stop trying._ Something inside him has snapped, and since he can’t hit Zuko he does the next best thing.

“You think having a dead mom gives you sympathy points? It doesn’t. And the rest of us don’t get to use it to hide behind the flaws of an imperialist empire.”

Zuko recoils and doesn’t respond.

The air between them hangs thick with hurt until the guard from before finally opens the door. 

“The area is secure,” she says. “It’s safe to leave now.”

Sokka bolts out of the closet and away from Zuko, finally able to breathe again. There’s no way he’s trapping himself in an expensive car with Zuko right now, even if they are going to the same place.

Sokka charges out of the building and walks at a breakneck pace down the busy city streets. It seems like any overeager journalists left when things got out of hand, so he doesn’t run into any resistance. Or maybe that’s because of the murderous look on his face.

He walks until he can't see the news station when he checks behind him. And then he keeps walking.

* * *

It's late into the evening when there’s a knock on Sokka’s door.

After walking back to Iroh’s from the studio, he locked himself in his room again, not wanting to be disturbed by calls for dinner or anything that would require him to confront Zuko. He had thought about packing up his things and moving to a hotel, but he’s tight on money and he’d still have to face Zuko at their next scheduled event.

After a short pause, the knock is followed by a tentative, "Hey, Sokka. Zuko here."

Sokka doesn't answer.

"Uncle wanted you to try this new tea he's been working on. He, uh, sent me."

Sokka hates himself for caving so easily, but he hasn't had anything to eat or drink since that weird breakfast. 

Against his better judgment, he opens the door.

Zuko is holding out a plate bearing a teacup and a stack of thin butter cookies, which Sokka quickly snatches.

"I, uh... wanted to apologize for earlier. In the closet," Zuko attempts.

"Whatever." Sokka shrugs bitterly, already turning his back on his unwelcome visitor.

"No, really," Zuko says and takes a step into the room. "About the ribbon dancing thing. I phrased it wrong."

Sokka stops dead in his tracks and whips around, some tea spilling out of the cup and onto the plate. "You _phrased it wrong_?"

"It's just been hard, these past few years," Zuko says, gaze somewhere to Sokka’s left. "I know I don't know everything that I should."

Is Sokka supposed to understand what that means? Because it sounds like Zuko’s playing the victim, not taking responsibility for his ignorance. He keeps glaring, challenging Zuko to talk himself further into a corner.

Zuko runs his hand through his hair, which is down for once. It falls just past his chin, and the shorter strands spill across his face, almost as haphazard as Toph's bangs. It’s odd, seeing him like this while he stumbles through a catastrophic failure of an apology. He seems less like a prince and more like a person.

Zuko stammers. “Sorry, I don’t...” The sentence dies, and he turns to leave. “Enjoy your tea.”

“Wait.”

Sokka doesn’t know what compels him to say it, but now Zuko’s stalling in the doorway instead of getting the hell away from him.

Actually, there _is_ something that Sokka knows he should say. It’s been eating away at the back of his mind for hours, no matter how hard he’s tried to push it down. He takes a deep breath.

“First of all, _fuck you_ ,” Sokka begins. Then he swallows his pride and adds, tone still harsh, “But I was an asshole in there, too, so… I’m sorry.”

Zuko’s brows draw together and he meets Sokka’s eye. “For what?”

_Seriously?_ Sokka steels himself to continue the conversation. “For, uh, saying what I said about your mom. For treating it so casually.” He hears how hesitant his voice is, and the juxtaposition between this admission and his earlier _fuck you_ is jarring.

He reaches to rub the back of his neck with his free hand but stops, noticing the awkward gesture, and sets the plate down on the nightstand.

Zuko stands in the doorway looking stunned, once-distant eyes now sharp and focused on Sokka. 

“It’s fine.”

Sure. Everything’s fine.

Sokka looks away first. “Anyways, thanks for the tea,” he says, hoping Zuko will take the hint.

Zuko clears his throat and takes a step back. “Goodnight, then.”

“Yeah.” Sokka scratches his head. “‘Night,” he mumbles as Zuko leaves and shuts the door behind him.

That was… something.

Sokka sits on the edge of the bed and takes a sip of tea. It’s pleasant, but a bit too lemony; he’ll have to tell Iroh in the morning.

He checks his phone, hoping for a distraction, and sees three missed calls and ten text messages from Suki, all from within the past five minutes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TOPH!? toph!! :-)  
> AGAIN wanna thank my CP for sticking w me thru the epic highs and lows, the triumphs and defeats of rwrb zukka fic. i will now lead us all into the chorus of maria from the broadway classic west side story  
> this one rlly was kinda traumatic tho. it's a whole thing. sorry there's no star wars convo, not gonna be that easy ;)  
> OH and i changed my tumblr identity to @vexahlla


	4. Brunch Buddies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> at any given moment i am in the depths of any given opinion of this fic. which is. so fun!! anyway here's lil baby ch4. wrote the first scene of this in springtime quarantine when all i wanted in life was a cute brunch outing

Sokka feels like he’s been hit by a truck, and the glaring yellow lamp above their table isn't helping.

Iroh had gathered them all for brunch at some quaint, 24-hour diner, but had left Sokka, Toph, and Zuko at the table to take an urgent phone call as soon as they’d placed their orders.

"I think he's in some sort of top-secret organization of old people," Toph stage-whispers.

Sokka gulps down his glass of water instead of replying, hoping to ease the thrumming headache he’s been fighting for several hours.

The restaurant is nice but not at all the upper-class chandelier-fest that Sokka had been expecting. In fact, it’s a normal-looking, family-run hidden gem, which doesn’t make any sense because none of the staff even batted an eye when the prince of their country walked in.

"You look awful," Zuko says, and it takes Sokka a moment to realize that these words are directed at him.

"Thanks, you are also extremely unattractive."

"I _meant_ ," Zuko clarifies, "that it looks like you didn't sleep last night. Is there a problem with your room or something?"

Sokka could make some kind of quip about pots and kettles, but he’s too tired to piece together the whole metaphor, so he just says, "Well, unlike certain people at this table who will remain nameless, I actually help my people, and sometimes that means missing a night of sleep." 

"I don't know, Zuko," Toph says, cheek resting on her hand, "I think he's talking about me."

"You really stayed up all night?” Zuko presses.

"There was a bit of a situation back home," Sokka says, waving it off. "It's not a big deal, we worked through it.”

He doesn't want to be reminded of the texts Suki had sent him last night detailing how his father's team has had to deal with this crisis, which was Sokka's fault to begin with. It was even worse when, later, Katara had called him at an ungodly hour in their timezone.

While it’s true that he’d been up late playing the game of politics, Sokka had also lost some sleep worrying about Katara. He knows that things like this hit her twice as hard.

He’s again reminded that he should be in the South Pole at his father’s side, not in some random Caldera diner with the most privileged kid in the world and a tiny, threatening teenager.

“So, what happened?” Toph asks. 

"Toph, come on," Zuko says, then turns back to Sokka. "You don't have to answer that."

Sokka focuses directly on Toph, trying to tune Zuko out of the conversation through passive-aggressive body language alone. "There's this village in the South Pole that's essentially half Imiq locals, half Kaji oil workers. Well, this whole” — Sokka gestures vaguely with his arms to indicate his presence in Caldera, with Zuko, at this table — “ _thing_ has made dangerous, underlying tensions there boil over."

Toph raises her brows. "Woof," she says, simultaneously blunt and empathetic. 

"Yeah," Sokka replies. "I spent all night trying to convince anyone I could to get the media involved."

Zuko's face scrunches up in confusion. "Isn't that the last thing you'd want?" Clearly he had not picked up on Sokka’s desire to exclude him.

"Uh, no, dumbass," Sokka says. "If we can get enough stations in on the drama, we'll get coverage _of_ both sides, _to_ both sides. Which means we'll get our perspective into Kaji households for once." He knows that Katara would scold him for using such casual language, but doubts his present company could give two shits.

Sokka belatedly realizes that he just spouted off an important strategy to the enemy. He really wishes he knew when to stop talking.

Zuko blinks. "That's... practical," he says, as though he hadn’t been expecting Sokka to understand the ins and outs of politics. As if that’s not exactly Sokka’s expertise.

"Don't you have literally _anywhere_ else that you could _possibly_ be right now?" Sokka demands. “Like, I’ve been forced into this country against my will so I may as well get some brunch out of it, and Toph is… Uh...”

“Rebelling against my parents by ordering pancakes in a foreign city.”

“Sure, exactly.” Sokka accepts her easy admission, but his interest is piqued. He makes a mental note to come back to it later. “Toph is exercising her right to defy authority. But _you_ ,” he says as he points an accusatory finger at Zuko from across the table, “you have a _girlfriend_ you could be _sucking face_ with right now.”

Toph cackles, snorts, and wipes at the corner of her eye. “Damn, Zukes, you’ve got a mystery woman in your life you’ve never told me about?”

“Yeah, that Mai girl from the dinner,” Sokka assures her.

Zuko sits frozen in place, looking at his fork as if it’s the most interesting thing in the world. “Mai’s not my girlfriend.”

Sokka hums, unconvinced. “Yeah, right. You two were inseparable at the fish stand.” He waggles his eyebrows suggestively.

Zuko turns pink, and Toph starts laughing again.

“Man, if you think Mai would have low enough standards to date _this guy_ ” — Toph throws a light punch to Zuko’s arm — “then you’re blinder than I am.”

Coming from Toph, the denial is more believable. Zuko pulls an exasperated face, but doesn’t actually look irritated by the ribbing or the punch, which is surprising.

Toph herself is surprising. Sokka may not know what her whole deal is, but it’s cool to have someone else around in Caldera who doesn’t think the sun shines out of Zuko’s ass. Her teasing seems friendly, though, while Sokka genuinely dislikes him.

Their food comes and Zuko asks the server to put Iroh’s meal in a takeout box. ( _Asks_ , doesn’t demand. Is he being polite to throw Sokka off?)

"Is that yetisoda or whatever?" Sokka asks, pointing to the dish that’s been placed in front of Zuko, which looks like some kind of a fruit tart.

"Huh?"

"Your favorite food. Yetisoda."

Zuko blinks. " _Yakisoba_? That’s a noodle bowl. And my favorite food is hot katsu curry."

"Um, no. You're lying," Sokka says. "You are a liar. Your factsheet said yetisoda."

"My factsheet was made by royal council members who haven't seen me since I was, like, twelve," Zuko says, a short, amused huff escaping his lips. "Besides, what are _you_ even eating?"

Sokka looks down at his plate full of various cuts of chicken, pork, and beef.

"Uh, brunch," he says. “Obviously.”

Zuko lets out a real laugh this time, and Sokka almost blacks out on their conversation entirely until Zuko stops laughing and says, "Okay, hold on."

Zuko grabs his phone from where it's placed face-down on the table and takes a picture of Sokka, mid-bite. Sokka sits still, face burning in confusion, until Zuko finishes tapping at his screen and turns the phone to Sokka.

It's a social media post. Sokka, his mouth full of drumstick and his meat lover's order in frame, captioned, _A full meat platter for brunch? Seriously?_

Zuko pulls the phone back towards him. “The world needs to think we’re friends, right?” he rationalizes with forced nonchalance.

So maybe it’s a halfway decent plan. Sokka masks his approval with sarcasm. “Alright, smartass. Two can play at that game.”

Sokka takes his own phone and lines up his shot. Somehow, even with forewarning, Zuko still looks startled as Sokka takes his picture. He’s pleased with himself for getting a candid, imperfect moment of a royal figure. He posts it with the caption, _this guy thinks fruit is breakfast._

"We should follow each other, to be convincing," Sokka says. He doesn't want to have to admit that he's already hate-following Zuko. That would be weird.

Zuko's cheeks go pink again — a weird side-effect of having pale skin, Sokka can’t help but notice. “Right. We should do that.”

“Wow, at the following stage already, huh?” Toph teases. “What’s next, you stay the night or something? Oh, wait.”

Sokka and Zuko both ignore her.

“Toph,” Zuko says after a brief look at his phone. “Aang keeps asking about his shoes.”

Aang as in the _monk_ Aang? From the Four Nations’ Dinner? The whole night is burned into Sokka’s memory forever, but he would remember the kid who had tried to woo his sister even if all hell hadn’t broken loose. How does Zuko know _Aang_?

Toph slams her fist into the table. “He’ll never take me alive!”

* * *

Back at Iroh’s after brunch, Sokka darts out of the upstairs bathroom, almost running Toph over in the process.

To avoid a nasty collision, he overcorrects and slams the right side of his body into the hallway wall.

“Come on, seriously?” Toph groans. “How come it’s always you seeing people who have to be reminded to watch where you’re going?”

“Sorry, sorry,” Sokka murmurs as he launches himself the rest of the way to his guest room.

Toph follows behind him, overly confident in invading his privacy, and rests her head against the frame of the door that Sokka left open in his haste.

For a moment, as he begins to fold his clothes from the floor into his suitcase, Sokka wonders how Zuko of all people deals with Toph’s brash presence. Sokka is used to the distraction, almost welcomes it in the absence of Katara’s similar mannerisms back home. From what he knows of Zuko, though, he can’t imagine him tolerating it.

“You’re packing already?” Toph asks, judgment clear in her voice. “Isn't your flight not for, like, a _while_?”

“Anything to quicken the process,” Sokka mutters.

“You can’t force a plane to fly early, you know.”

Sokka doesn’t reply. He knows his actions are futile; he isn’t stupid. And yet, here he is, rushing things anyway.

“Man, you must really hate it here,” Toph says.

“What’s to like?”

Toph lifts a shoulder. “People are really careless with their money, for one.”

That startles a laugh out of Sokka despite his sour mood. 

“So what’s your deal, anyway?” he asks, finally broaching the topic. “Are you Iroh's niece or something?” He doesn’t see the resemblance, but anything is possible. “Would that make you and Zuko cousins? Second cousins? First cousins twice removed? Second—”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Toph interrupts. She arches a brow and gestures dramatically at herself. “Do you seriously think I share any genetic material with Zuko?”

Sokka thinks about making a comment about the similarities between Zuko’s and Toph’s bangs, but refuses to be deterred from his line of questioning. "Still," he says, "you said something about rebelling against your parents at brunch today, so I was wondering why someone like you would choose to live with someone like _him_."

"Zuko?" Toph guesses from his tone. She waves a hand. "He's just fluff."

_Just fluff_. Yeah, that's not how Sokka would describe him.

"Besides," she continues, "I only signed up for Iroh."

Sokka laughs harshly. "Well, that makes two of us." 

Toph crosses the room and makes herself comfortable on the foot of the bed.

She makes a face at Sokka’s expectant silence. "What?"

"I just— I thought there was more to the story."

Toph sighs, blowing some of her thick bangs out of her clouded eyes. "Look," she says. "My parents were overly controlling, and I was sick of the Yin Kingdom, so I ran. That's all."

Sokka's been around Suki long enough to know that the Yin Kingdom has its own problems. Every country does, but Sokka would take the Yin Kingdom over the Kaji Empire any day. He gets why Toph would leave, though.

"Iroh found me before I wound up in juvie or something. He checks in with my parents from time to time to let them know I'm safe. They have some sort of agreement — I don't know. I haven't talked to them in ages." Toph's voice has gone much softer now, and she's playing with the tassels of the throw blanket at the end of the bed.

“Oh, I see,” Sokka says, leaning against the nightstand and smirking. “You’re a Yin Kingdom spy. _That’s_ why you live with the prince.”

“Not so loud, dude! Zuko’s in the other room!” And just like that, the tension leaves Toph’s shoulders and her general vibe is back.

As she gets up off the bed and heads for the door, Sokka asks, “Why does _he_ live with Iroh?”

Toph holds her hands up as if to ward off his question. “Oh, that is _so_ not my place to say. You should ask him, though. I’m sure he’d _love_ that.”

She pauses in the doorway and turns back to Sokka with a mischievous grin. “Oh, and by the way…” 

She tosses something to Sokka that he fails to catch. He snatches it off of the ground and realizes what it is: his wallet. 

He turns to her, voice heavy with betrayal as he says, “ _Why?_ ”

“Eh.” Toph shrugs. “I crave chaos.” And with that, she leaves him.

Sokka checks his wallet for its usual contents, and everything’s right where he left it.

He wonders how such aimable people can live with someone as obnoxious and draining as Zuko. He wonders if maybe Toph and Iroh — _the prince’s uncle_ — aren’t as innocent as he initially believed them to be. He wonders why Toph had so strongly deflected his questions about Zuko’s whole deal.

He goes back to his luggage.

* * *

Sokka creeps down the stairs, careful to test each step for a creak before committing his full weight. He breathes a sigh of relief when his feet meet the ground floor, though he still watches his step as he sneaks into the kitchen.

It’s a miracle he’s made it this far, in all honesty. He has a hard enough time doing 3AM caffeine runs in his own home, let alone in a stranger's house with no light to guide his way.

A part of him feels intrusive and rude for rummaging through his kind host's kitchen in the middle of the night, but another part of him, the part that's about to fall asleep at any second, couldn't care less.

He's shuffling through the bottom drawer below the pots and pans when he finds something that looks like it wouldn't be missed. It’s a partially rusted tin stuffed with small bags of tea leaves, and it looks like only two or three packets have been used. Sokka takes the tin to the counter where a night light glows dimly to see if there’s a label.

"You don't want to drink that."

The voice, soft and rough, startles Sokka. He didn’t expect to get caught so he failed to strategize a natural escape.

He whips around and sees Zuko, hair down again, leaning against the wall near the pantry, looking as unimpressed as ever. Sokka doesn’t know why the casual hairstyle irritates him so much, but something about it must get to him because there's an aggressive lurch inside of him whenever he sees or thinks about it.

"You managed to pick the worst tasting one. It's kind of incredible, really," Zuko says, his voice scratchy. 

Sokka gapes at him for a moment before saying, somewhat defensively, "I was just—"

"Looking for something to help you sleep?" Zuko guesses.

"Uh," Sokka falters and darts his eyes away. "To stay up, actually."

Sokka looks back to Zuko, and he sees his own tired restlessness reflected in Zuko’s eyes. 

"Well, most of my uncle's teas will do the opposite of that," Zuko says after a beat. "He's put it upon himself to specialize in calming blends."

"Oh.”

Zuko opens the pantry door and disappears into the depths of a tea-lover’s dream, leaving Sokka alone to steep in his own discomfort. Should he abandon his quest now that it’s been proven futile, now that the enemy has arrived?

Zuko appears back with a rather small, unassuming black box. He places it on the dimly lit counter in front of Sokka, his arm brushing against Sokka's and away again before Sokka can register the touch. "Hand me two cups," he says as he grabs the kettle and brings it to the sink, filling it with enough water for two people.

Confusion heats Sokka’s cheeks. "I don't understand. Are you giving me one of these?" He lifts the container closer to the light to examine the label: it's a box of instant espresso packets.

"I was down here to make one for myself, anyway," Zuko replies with a shrug. He finishes filling the kettle and comes back to where Sokka’s standing to fit it onto its base and turn it on.

Sokka is so eager to leave Zuko’s proximity that he doesn’t realize that he’s following Zuko’s princely command until he’s already grabbed two cups from the mug tree farther down the counter. 

Sokka sets the mugs down in front of Zuko, and Zuko empties one packet into each cup. While they wait for the water to boil, they’re left with only each other and their silence.

“Do you _ever_ sleep?” Sokka asks eventually, bored of fidgeting with his hands and watching the red glow of the kettle’s button.

Zuko’s simple “Do you?” is less accusatory, more of an observation.

Sokka doesn’t know how to respond, and they lapse into silence again until the kettle switches itself off with a soft _click_. Zuko quickly snatches the kettle and pours the hot water over the espresso in both cups.

Now that the coffee is ready, there’s nothing to keep Sokka here. He could grab his cup and flee without a word. He stays put, though. He doesn’t want to thank Zuko, but it would be weird not to somehow acknowledge this turn of events. He grabs one of the mugs — teacups, really — and holds it up to Zuko.

“Well, cheers, I guess,” Sokka says, trying to mask how awkward he feels with a smirk. The forced expression must look odd because Zuko looks down into his own teacup to avoid looking at him.

They both disappear behind the cups as they drink.

Sokka grimaces at his first sip. “Talk about taste, man,” he says, and smacks his lips to further his point.

There’s a ghost of a smile on Zuko’s lips when he says, “It gets the job done.”

Sokka clears his throat. “Well, anyway,” he starts, “I should be heading back up.” He gestures upstairs with his cup, nearly sloshing coffee over the sides.

Zuko nods, eyes fixed on his own feet.

Sokka takes a step away, stops himself from thanking Zuko yet again, says instead, “Good, uh, drink,” and hurries up to the staircase so that he can cringe in solitude.

Why does everyday keep getting weirder? He’s not one to believe in spiritual mumbo-jumbo, but bad karma from a past life seems like it could be a plausible theory at this point.

As he nears the guest room, Sokka decidedly opts out of thinking about what just happened. He usually likes to dissect the things in life that don’t make sense, but he’s not going to worry about this one. It’s just one big, ugly distraction that is better to avoid.

As he lays in his bed, his eyes are on his phone — reading through the groupchat with Suki and the other young interns, scrolling through various news feeds, jumping from app to app — but his mind is somewhere else entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait i have this written down somewhere hold on. yeah ok. so about the whole hate-following thing: they don't know the other's following them back bc it's been yeeaarsss and they're both too stubborn and repressed to check. Sokka follows for "image reasons" it would look odd if he wasn't following such an important figure, right? hmm who knows why zuko's following him. a mystery, truly.


	5. The Emperor's New Clothes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> omg i can finally post this chapter!!! this week was full of power outages and keyboard glitches and vampirism, idk :/  
> did you know that most phones have an emoji keyboard? seriously, look. see all those hearts? those are for you, specifically. if i don't know how to respond to ur comment just know that im sending you ALL the heart emojis in the known and unknown universe

When Sokka found out that he'd have to spend an entire plane ride with Zuko, he thought that he would at least get his own corner of a private jet. But _no_ , he can never have nice things.

Instead, they’re on a normal, commercial flight. They _have_ been placed in first-class, though — a luxury of political life that Sokka has yet to get used to even after five years — which slightly alleviates the torture of spending a flight next to Zuko. 

Zuko took the window seat without asking (typical) and now isn’t even looking at the view. He's caught up in a book that, if Sokka knows anything about Kaji artistic expression, is drowning in melodrama. At any rate, Zuko seems to be content if a bit tired.

Sokka, on the other hand, can't keep still. He's taken advantage of this all-expenses-paid trip provided by the Kaji Empire by ordering and drinking more ginger-ale than he's ever consumed in his life, and the sugar is making him hyper-aware of everything — the plane’s engines humming, passengers sniffling, his own leg bouncing.

He tries to distract himself by listening to music, but his brain refuses to be sidetracked and screams at him for not working on something. He's trained himself too well, it seems.

Since music isn’t working, Sokka decides to try watching a movie — more senses occupied, right? He fidgets with the small screen on the seat in front of him and watches the first few minutes of several movies. Unfortunately, he can't focus on a single scene with Zuko sitting beside him, probably judging his selections, so he gives up his headphones in defeat.

What he really needs, he knows, is interesting conversation. Hell, it doesn't even _have_ to be interesting. Zuko's not an ideal conversationalist (see: all of their previous exchanges), but Sokka would settle for a wet mop at this point.

"What'cha reading?" he asks as he leans into Zuko's space, just to make him flinch.

Zuko, who Sokka now realizes had been on the edge of sleep, startles. He quickly closes his book and fumbles to hide it at his side. “Nothing, anymore.”

“Come on, man. Why do you always have to be such an asshole?”

" _I'm_ always an asshole?" Zuko repeats, exasperated. "You’re the one who decided to hate me before any of _this_ ” — he gestures a bit wildly to encompass their situation — “even started.”

“I don’t have to remind you that you’re the prince of a nation that represents everything I actively stand against, do I?” Sokka deadpans. “And _you’re_ the one who hated me first.”

“That’s not how I remember it,” Zuko says, frowning.

Sokka stops short and looks pointedly at him. “Are you serious right now?”

“What?” Zuko asks, clearly confused .

Oh, so _that’s_ how this conversation is going to go. _Brilliant_.

"You really don't remember the other Four Nations' Dinner?"

Sokka remembers it in vivid detail. He remembers being thirteen, brimming with nervous energy at his first ever major worldwide political event. He remembers standing proudly at his father’s side as his father spoke to influential person after influential person. He remembers explaining the different foods at the buffet tables to Katara. And Sokka remembers, down to the dragon brooch on Zuko’s scarlet haori, the first time they met.

"Was it the one where you were pulled away for trying to pie me in the face?" Zuko guesses, unamused.

" _No_ ," Sokka says. "It was the time you were a condescending jerk to me after my father was elected."

Zuko's still looking at Sokka as if he’s speaking gibberish.

"Seriously?" Sokka can't believe how much of a dick one human person can be.

"Remind me?"

Sokka glares at him. "I walked up to introduce myself, and you stared at me like I was the most offensive thing you had ever seen. Right after you shook my hand, you turned to your guard and said, ' _Can you get rid of him_?'"

A pause.

“Oh,” Zuko says, breaking eye contact. He clears his throat. “I didn’t realize you’d heard that.”

“Yeah, well, I did. The douchebaggery really jumped out on that one.”

“So, bad first impression, enemy nation, got it. Anything else I should be made aware of?”

“What? Are you compiling a list of offences?” Sokka asks. “Spirits, you make it sound so trivial. This actually affects me, okay? I can’t just leave this whole thing behind after this weekend like you can.”

Sokka realizes his voice has become tinged with desperation, so he crosses his arms over his chest and leans back, trying to look unaffected.

“I know,” Zuko says, so softly that Sokka barely hears him.

Confused, Sokka glances back at Zuko. He’s leaning against the window, looking more tired than Sokka’s ever seen him, which is saying something.

“I can’t do anything about the rest of it, really,” Zuko mumbles, “but you’re right, I was being a jerk that day. Not that it’s really an excuse, but my mom had died only a year before, and — and I just had a lot going on back then. I was still kind of a jerk every day of my life at that time.” His voice gets even softer and he breathes out, “I’m… sorry.”

And then his body relaxes against the window, and he’s asleep. 

Sokka is left looking at Zuko’s face, relaxed in sleep, wondering if he’d heard him right.

He’s not ready to think about what he’s just heard, so he pushes away thoughts of what Zuko has said and thinks instead of the day ahead. Another interview is scheduled for tonight, this one at the Niatoks’ home. It's supposed to be a casual, sit-down family dinner with a best friend, something to solidify the friendship narrative while giving blog readers a break from the politically-charged articles written about the situation. 

It sounds exhausting.

Sokka leans back into his seat, closes his eyes, and lets sleep overtake him.

* * *

Bright flashes accost Sokka as soon as he and Zuko step out of the airport and into the parking lot. It seems like the news stations had gotten the memo about the prince taking an ordinary flight, even if Sokka had not.

The problem is that, for whatever reason, Zuko’s guard, Ming, isn't around to brush off the paparazzi. Whoever’s in charge of the prince is really slacking off on their job.

So now, apparently, it’s up to Sokka to handle this mess. As soon as they step outside, he jumps into action.

"Pretend that I just said something funny," he hisses to Zuko. When there's no response, he adds, "Seriously, dude, you look like a constipated naked mole rat."

Zuko snorts, and his face lightens a little.

"See, that wasn't so hard." At least Zuko’s _trying_ this time, which is more than can be said for the day of the first interview. Sokka stops that train of thought before it can distract him from the task ahead of him, but his hands still tighten into fists at his sides.

As soon as it looks like the press got their stupid photo of the two of them, Sokka grabs Zuko's arm and hauls him to a secluded corner of the parking lot.

"Alright, where's your ride?"

Zuko stares wide-eyed at him.

It takes one long, painful moment before Sokka realizes.

"You don't have a ride?" he demands. "What is the point of being royal if people don’t do everything for you? Seriously, what is the point?"

Zuko is devoting his attention to the ground. A sense of guilt or shame radiates from him as he says, "Just drop it, okay? I'll figure it out. I'll use an app or something," and reaches into a pocket for his phone. 

Sokka looks at Zuko skeptically. “Do you even have anything like that downloaded?” he asks. He’s seen Zuko’s long-ass NDA; he doubts that Zuko would trust a stranger to drive him anywhere without paperwork 

Zuko’s chagrined expression speaks for him.

Sokka assesses that they’re in too precarious a situation right now to bother with the kind of hassle that comes with setting up a whole new app, especially one that requires credit card information. He groans and rubs his hands across his face. "Where's your hotel?"

"It's just a few miles away. I can walk."

Sokka peers at Zuko's phone to see his route. It's close by, theoretically, but almost an hour's walk. Sokka does the math. The distance, plus weather far colder than someone from Caldrea has ever experienced, plus Zuko’s globally-recognizable face... It doesn’t add up favorably. 

Sokka drops his face into his hands and muffles another groan. "I'll just drive you," he mutters.

Zuko blinks in surprise, then shakes his head. "No, it's fine. I'll walk."

"That's really not a good idea." Sokka says. "Come on, before they find out where we're hiding."

Without waiting for Zuko to agree, he heads off across the parking lot towards his pick-up. He’d parked it here before flying to Caldera, so of course there’s a mountain of snow and ice piled on top of it.

Sokka gets in, starts the car, grabs his ice scraper, and starts clearing off the windshields and mirrors. When he gets to the passenger side, Zuko is standing there looking pained, his eyes pleading. 

_Right_ , Sokka had forgotten to unlock the passenger door. He rolls his eyes and obliges.

Zuko barges in, shivering all over despite the winter coat he’s wearing. Sokka finishes clearing off the truck and gets back into the driver’s seat. He almost doesn’t turn on the heat. _Almost_.

“It’s so cold. How do you live like this?” Zuko grumbles, his teeth still chattering.

“Well, it’s been the warmest winter on record every year for the past twenty years now. So you can thank your father for the temperate weather the next time you see him,” Sokka says pointedly as he backs out of the parking space and pulls onto the road. 

Zuko is quiet after that, so Sokka turns on the radio and focuses on the road, trying to act like this is a completely normal car ride.

When Sokka finally stops in front of the hotel, Zuko jumps out but stalls at the door without closing it. “What about the interview later tonight?” he asks hesitantly, burrowing his face into his fur hood.

“Spirits, just meet me back out here at seven,” Sokka sighs. “Go inside before I change my mind.”

* * *

Hakoda isn't there when Sokka gets home, but Katara is. She greets him with a playful jab to the stomach.

"Ow!" Sokka laughs. "A 'hello' would be nice."

"Hellos aren't given to traitors who room with the prince."

Sokka ignores the quip as he steps further inside, and the familiarity of the dark woods and soft pelts melts away the frigid world he leaves behind.

"How'd you manage without me?" he asks Katara. 

"Better," she replies.

"Oh, _ha ha_."

"Got any more intel about the prince to share?" she asks, trying and failing to be casual.

Sokka sighs. He just wants to be home, away from the Zuko mess, if only for a moment. "Even if I did, which I don't, I couldn't say. You wouldn't believe the massive NDA I had to sign before I could even talk to the guy."

Katara looks the opposite of deterred. "Why do you think it's so long?"

Sokka shrugs and falls onto the couch.

“There’s got to be something wrong with him,” Katara speculates. “Besides, you know, the obvious." Suddenly, she groans. " _Ugh_ , is he _really_ coming here tonight? I don't even want to look at him."

"Yeah, I have to pick him up at seven," Sokka says, toying with his hoodie strings.

Katara is silent for so long that Sokka double checks to make sure she didn’t leave the room. "What?"

" _You're picking him up?_ " she hisses.

"Yeah, well. He doesn't have a ride, so."

Katara shakes her head. "Well, _that's_ an oversight," she says. “Do you think that’s mismanagement by the Kaji crown or is he really that tough to work with?”

Sokka’s been pondering the same thing. Zuko seems really polite to his staff, but that doesn’t mean they like him. He lifts his brows to say _I don’t know_.

“In any case, you shouldn’t pick him up,” Katara says flatly.

Sokka sits up a little. “I have to, though. How else would he get here?”

Katara huffs. “He’s a big boy, he can figure it out.”  
  


* * *

Sokka thinks about leaving Zuko to fend for himself like Katara had suggested, but in the end he drives back to the hotel. When he pulls up, he finds Zuko sitting on a bench outside, looking colder than he's ever seen anyone look, cheeks pink and splotchy. Wordlessly, he gets in the car. The ride is silent.

* * *

The website journalist hasn't arrived when they get there, so Zuko hovers in the Niatoks’ foyer as an awkward, unwanted guest of the family.

“Zuko, dad. Dad, Zuko,” Sokka introduces, hoping against all hope to lighten the mood. Zuko shoots him an odd look but then his attention turns to the Chief.

“Your Highness,” Hakoda says, bowing in Kaji fashion.

“Mr. Niatok,” Zuko replies and extends his arm for a formal Imiq handshake.

Hakoda smiles what Sokka knows to be his fake smile as he accepts the greeting.

“And this is Katara, my sister,” Sokka says, rubbing the back of his head as he braces for the inevitable explosion.

“Nice to meet you,” Zuko says to her with a polite, if strained, smile.

“Charmed,” Katara returns coolly, looking anything but.

Sokka never thought he would eagerly await an invasive news crew in his home, but here he is, counting down the seconds until over-caffeinated and over-enthusiastic strangers insert themselves into his private life. 

After an awkward silence, Hakoda clears his throat and prompts, "So, Katara, how was the Young Activists Council today?"

Katara finally pulls her disapproving gaze away from Zuko, and her attitude immediately shifts as she eagerly tells Hakoda about her day. Sokka starts to feel bad that his family's conversation and body language so clearly exclude their guest, but then remembers that it's _Zuko_ and pushes past any guilt.

After hours, (okay, ten minutes) there's a gentle rap on the door, and Hakoda goes to answer it. He welcomes the newcomers in and they all exchange pleasantries. The guests are young Imiq professionals from a trendy website, one a dolled-up interviewer, and the other a pretentious photographer. Their fake cheeriness makes Sokka’s skin crawl. 

Sokka's become so accustomed to faking his friendship with Zuko over the past few days that he's startled by Katatra's horrified expression when he drapes his arm easily over Zuko’s shoulder for one of the photos. He's more startled that his own feelings no longer match hers. He wants to tell her not to waste her energy, that Zuko isn’t threatening enough to be intimidated by.

After the photographer is happy with his photos of Zuko and Sokka together, the whole group moves to the dining room, and when the photographer finishes with his food photos, everyone sits down to eat. 

Food is passed around and served, conversation is awkwardly attempted, and Sokka does his best to pretend that none of this is actually happening. Zuko is sitting to his right, quietly eating everything on his plate, while Katara glares at him from across the table. Once the small talk is out of the way, the interviewer starts a simple line of questions.

Zuko doesn’t complain about the freezing temperature when asked how he’s enjoying Harbor City so far, and instead says that he finds the landscapes of the south quite beautiful. _What?_ When the questions turn to the meal they're enjoying, Sokka drags his attention away from that weird response to explain the different dishes. Gran Gran had actually made everything, but she had gone to bed early, and in her absence Sokka is the second-in-command when it comes to cooking.

Sokka’s attention keeps shifting to Katara’s quiet wrath. He understands that she would rather be anywhere else than here, but if their situations were reversed, he doesn't think he would put up quite the same resistance. He would stay quiet and watch and listen, not because it would be the polite thing to do, but because it would be the _smart_ thing to do.

At long last, the journalist and photographer take their last bites of dinner, and Hakoda stands up to begin collecting the dishes. Sokka is just thanking whatever higher power that may exist that this ordeal is almost over without anything too uncomfortable happening when Hakoda reaches for Zuko’s plate. 

Zuko stands quickly, his chair clattering behind him, and says, “Allow me, sir.”

Hakoda starts in shock. “You’re our guest, Prince Zuko, you shouldn’t—”

“It would be my honor,” Zuko persists, with a slight bow of his head.

Katara somehow seems even more irritated than before, Hakoda looks just as confused as Sokka feels right now, and even the interviewer and photographer share an awkward glance. 

Zuko looks to Sokka, as if for a cue. Sokka has absolutely no idea what is happening, but decides to roll with it. Handing his plate to Zuko, he says, “Hey, less work for me!”

Hadoka relents at Sokka’s acceptance and hands his stack of dishes to Zuko. The rest of the table, though reluctant and uncomfortable, follows the Chief’s lead.

Zuko collects the plates and _invites himself into the family kitchen_.

So he’s actually doing their dishes, then. Sokka thought his brain was glitching for a second there. He’s never seen a dinner guest offer to do that, especially someone unrelated to the hosting household.

Since both their work and the meal is done, the journalist and photographer begin to politely extricate themselves from the tense situation. They murmur about the excellent meal and how wonderful it was to meet the Niatoks and Prince Zuko as Hakoda and Katara walk them to the front door. Sokka supposes he should join them and say goodbye, but he instead follows his curiosity to the kitchen, where Zuko is hovering over the sink.

"So, what was all that back there?" Sokka asks as he leans against the wall and watches Zuko rinse the plates. "You applying for a position as my personal servant, or something?"

Zuko's shoulders tense. "It's polite, genius," he mutters. "Back home, the guest cleans up for the host. I didn't realize it was a uniquely Kaji custom until I embarrassed myself back there." He goes silent, then adds, softly, "Your sister hates me."

"Yeah, pretty much," Sokka replies. He tries to sound casual, but the disappointment in Zuko's voice knocks him a bit off-kilter. He decides to change the subject. "You know what's _really_ embarrassing? The fact that you didn't pack winter clothes."

Zuko turns off the sink and looks at him, face scrunched up. "What are you talking about? I did."

"Uh, no, dumbass. You didn't."

Zuko looks pointedly down at the sweater he's wearing. "You think this is a fashion statement?"

Sokka rolls his eyes. "It takes more than that to stay warm around here. Follow me." He cocks his head, a questioning beckon.

Zuko continues to frown at him.

"Seriously, dude." Sokka throws his hands up. "It's not like I could get away with your murder, no matter how much I might want to."

Zuko shakes his head, but when Sokka starts up the stairs, he trails behind.

As they reach the door to Sokka's room, which is covered in stickers he'd saved from science class, sharpie notes from friends, and memes from high school that he’d tape on after particularly boring days, Sokka realizes that it, like his room, is a clear indicator of who he is.

Sokka pushes the door open and walks in, and Zuko follows.

Okay, so he's just brought the prince of an antagonistic nation into his room. Weird, but he's not going to dwell on it. He heads for his cluttered closet and begins to sift through the mass of clothing piled there. Everything is clean (mostly), he just has better things to do than fold and organize clothes.

While he searches, he's vaguely aware of Zuko taking in his surroundings. He wonders what his room looks like to an outsider: the poster of his favorite pro wrestler, The Boulder, alongside astronomy charts; the corkboard covered in photos from fishing trips hanging above a stack of fur pelts; the trophy collection (mostly science stuff) mingling with chaotic stacks of sci-fi books.

Sokka finally finds what he’s looking for. "Here," he says, and hands it out to Zuko. "So you'll stop shaking all the time."

Zuko stands up from where he’d been crouching to look at the bookcase’s bottom shelf and tentatively takes the unassuming flannel undergarment from Sokka. "This is supposed to keep me warm?"

"Yeah. Well, when you wear it under everything else, obviously.”

Zuko gives him a look that says he had not found that obvious. He glances back to the shelf he’d been focused on, which is dedicated to Sokka’s sword fighting ribbons.

Sokka smirks. "Impressed?" he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows.

"Not really," Zuko says simply. "Third place isn't much to be impressed by."

"Oh, _really_?" Sokka demands. "Bet you couldn't get third place."

Zuko snorts. "I'd have you on your back in under a minute, with my blade to your chin."

Oh, _no way_ did he just say that. Also, why is Sokka blushing? He ignores that. "Is that a challenge, my liege?"

"Believe me, it wouldn't be much of a challenge."

"Okay, then," Sokka says, confident he's calling Zuko's bluff. He turns back to his closet, reaches into the far left corner, and grabs his bag of kendo supplies. "You are so on," he threatens as he flings the bag onto his bed.

Zuko watches him unzip the bag and pull out two lightweight bamboo poles, disbelieving.

"What's the matter?" Sokka mocks. "Only, I thought you were confident in your abilities, is the thing." Sokka hates being an asshole, he swears he does. But with Zuko, it’s intentional and it’s _fun_ , and he revels in it.

"You really want to do this?" Zuko asks, searching Sokka’s face for signs that he’s joking.

Sokka has never wanted to do anything as much as he wants to beat the prince of the worst empire in the world in a duel. 

Zuko sees his determination and shrugs. "Your loss, I guess."

His loss. _Yeah, right_.

"There's not enough room in here, obviously. We have to go outside," Sokka says.

Zuko nods briskly, his out-of-place formality comical. Sokka can't help but chuckle as he runs downstairs, practice sword in hand. He thinks he sees Hakoda eyeing them, expression strange, but he’s already out the back door.

Once they’re both outside, there’s a moment of uncertainty, but Sokka’s excitement quickly bubbles to the surface.

"Know how to take a stance?" he teases. To his surprise, Zuko responds by getting into perfect form.

Even more surprising is that Zuko matches Sokka's cockiness with a coy eyebrow raise of his own. "Ready whenever you are."

Spirits, Sokka can't wait to give this rich boy the wake-up call of his life. He mirrors Zuko's stance and readies himself for what is sure to be a very short lesson in proving Sokka right.

"Ready?" Zuko asks, voice low, eyes trained on Sokka's every move.

Sokka charges without looking, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he imagines knocking Zuko down a few pegs.

But then his blade is forced down and he’s knocked onto his back, Zuko’s dull practice blade at his throat. 

"Do I even have to say I told you so?" Zuko asks with a bored sigh. 

"Beginners luck, you sea prune!" Sokka yells. 

Zuko shrugs and turns away. "Yeah, yeah."

"No, seriously," Sokka says, anger flooding through him and bringing him back on his feet. "I wasn't looking. That was a total fluke!"

"You keep telling yourself that." 

"Take a stance!" Sokka shouts at Zuko's back, furious with Zuko’s calm.

Zuko turns to look at Sokka, then rolls his eyes when he sees that he’s serious. 

He lets out a soft laugh and eases back into a stance. "Okay, sure. One more win for me."

"You wish!" Sokka spits. His heart is hammering in his chest as he plants his feet in the snow and raises his sword to Zuko's eye level.

There's a still moment when neither of them strike, both studying the other.

And then Zuko darts forward.

Sokka dodges the attack, jumping to the left of the wide swing. He pushes his own sword out, attempting to clip Zuko's backside, but Zuko's too quick. At once, he blocks Sokka's blade and flings it away.

They become aware of the opening in the same instant, and they jump into action. Zuko flashes his blade out as Sokka fights to block the thrust. 

Zuko manages to jab Sokka (technically scoring the point) but in the mess of limbs and bamboo poles, they trip over each other and go tumbling into the snow. They land on their backs, shoulders about a foot apart. Sokka turns to look at Zuko to find him already looking back. 

"I got first place in all my matches," Zuko says.

_Right_. He's the crown prince of the Kaji Empire. Kendo is a traditional _Kaji_ form of sword fighting. Sokka can’t believe he forgot that in his stupid rush of excitement. 

"Asshole," Sokka grumbles.

Zuko starts laughing. Like, actual, full-belly laughing. Sokka is so surprised that all he can do is join in. 

After a while, Zuko’s full-belly laughing turns into full-body shivering, and it dawns on Sokka that Zuko hadn't taken the time to put on his thermals before coming out here.

Sokka jumps up and offers him a hand.

"Dude, get up, get out of the snow! Why didn't you change? Do you _want_ to die of hypothermia in my backyard?"

Zuko takes Sokka’s hand and brushes snow out of his hair as he stands. His eyes lock on something over Sokka’s shoulder, and he stiffens. Sokka turns to follow his gaze and sees Katara at the dining room window, watching them, looking downright murderous.

Sokka realizes that Zuko’s hand is still clasped in his. He hurriedly drops it and clears his throat. “Guess it’s time I drive you back, then.”

Zuko nods and looks down to his boots.

“But first you’re putting on those thermals.” 

  
  


* * *

A wardrobe change and a car ride later, Sokka and Zuko are parked back out front of Zuko’s hotel. The street lights glow orange and bathe the snowy evening around them in warmth.

They sit in silence for a moment, the current between them different than last time they were here.

Finally, Zuko opens the door of the pick-up and starts to get out. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow, I guess,” Sokka offers.

Zuko stands on the pavement and looks at Sokka, eyes unreadable, before quietly saying, “Goodnight, Sokka,” and closing the door. 

And then Zuko walks inside, and Sokka drives away from where those street lights stand, but the warmth lingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> look i HAD TO put in a sparring session!!!! it's kendo so technically they're shouting at each other, but i'll leave that up to how you want to experience this fic hdshfd


	6. Sidelines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GA & PA flipped blue bc of this fic. i know this for a fact bc im from GA and my CP's from PA. we did it, folks

It’s the early hours of the morning, a time usually seen only by fishermen and dogs, when the sky is only a shade lighter than it’s previous midnight black. 

Zuko’s eyes widen when the lights of the hotel entrance reveal the enormous moving van approaching him. His hot breath steams out into a cloud of cool white, and Sokka, steering the beast of a vehicle, is struck by the uncanny image of a Kaji dragon far out of his element.

Once Sokka pulls up in front of the hotel and wrestles the van into park, Zuko hops into the front beside him. The back of the van may be spacious, but up here there’s only enough room for two people. Three, if you’re determined.

“Do we really have to take this down there?” Zuko asks as Sokka maneuvers the van out of the hotel parking lot. He’s still flushed with cold, but shaking far less than yesterday, so at least he remembered to layer up properly this time.

“No. _I_ really have to take this down there,” Sokka corrects. “You get to sit pretty in the passenger’s seat.”

“I just mean,” Zuko says, sighing, “You’re the Chief’s son. Shouldn’t there be—”

“Servants waiting on my beck and call for everything?”

Zuko doesn’t look amused. “Someone who’s _job_ this is?” he clarifies.

”I could ask the same about you, seeing as I’m the one who’s stuck driving you around everywhere,” Sokka says. “Besides, the road ahead is only passable with certain tires, so one vehicle per trip is way more efficient.”

“Oh,” is all Zuko says for a while. Then, once they’re making good progress on the route leading out of downtown Harbor City, he says, “Sorry if last night was weird.”

“Yeah, well,” Sokka replies, shrugging, “I was out of practice. If I was at my fighting best, it would be a whole other story.”

Zuko tilts his head. “No, I mean, I’m sorry I made a bad impression on your family. The way your sister looked at me… It’s like she wanted to kill me.”

Sokka laughs. "Yeah, she can get really intense. You should see her in her element."

Zuko shifts his focus from his own hands to where Sokka’s are placed on the steering wheel. "What's her element?" he prompts.

"All of her activism,” Sokka says, smiling. “It's in the field. I can sit inside and theorize forever, but Katara's all action. Like, she's way better at public speaking than I am. Whenever I try, I just fumble.”

Zuko shoots him a questioning look.

“What?” Sokka demands.

"It's just surprising,” Zuko says “You never stop talking."

"That's different," Sokka explains. "When I'm up in front of everyone like that, when it really counts? I put too much pressure on myself — I'm too scripted, too disconnected. Katara just lets her passion do the talking. She makes it seem so simple, so effortless."

Zuko takes this in and smiles to himself, mouth quirked oddly. "Yeah, Azula's like that too." 

Sokka’s eyes are still trained on the road, but his head tilts toward Zuko at this comment, his interest piqued. 

“She’s scary good at commanding a crowd,” Zuko says. Sokka doesn’t see how Zuko connected what he said about Katara’s inspirational speeches to being commanding, and is about to say so when Zuko adds, “She’s good at _everything_.”

He sounds so dejected when he says it. Sokka swallows whatever emotion dejected Zuko is making him feel and shrugs. “Little sisters, right? It’s like it’s their role from birth to try to one-up you at everything.”

“If that’s the case, Azula’s certainly succeeded.”

Sokka wants to say _Katara, too_ , but one look at Zuko tells him that they’re not really talking about the same thing.

Sokka lets the conversation drop as he pulls the truck to a stop at a red light. He fumbles with the radio and pulls out his phone from where it's resting in a cup holder, then plugs in the aux cord and taps shuffle on his hype playlist.

At once, they’re bombarded by the loud bass of a pop song that was in the Top 40 probably five years ago. Sokka grins like an idiot and bops his head for a few beats before lifting his brows expectantly at Zuko, who is sitting stiff as a board and looking confused.

“This one has all the bops!” he explains when he sees Zuko’s expression.

The light turns green, and Sokka drives on, still bobbing his head and occasionally singing. Zuko doesn’t join the jam session, but he doesn’t shut down any of Sokka’s music choices, and, as they head into the sunrise, his small smile is genuine.

* * *

The port town of Little Harbor sits on the southernmost habitable point of the South Pole, accessible only by boat and one long, isolated road that endures the worst of the nation’s winter weather.

Despite its desolate location, Little Harbor’s population has surged in recent decades since the previous High Chief signed an agreement with a Kaji oil company in hopes of economic growth. There are towns like it scattered throughout the South, but Little Harbor has a reputation for being the most oil-rich of them all.

Even so, it’s still the smallest village in the South Pole, which is why Sokka is thrown for a loop as he parks in the middle of a scene bustling with reporters and news crews.

The media has already sunk its teeth into the ever-evolving story of tense relations here, and Sokka and Zuko’s presence will only fan that flame.

Sokka knows he pushed for the news coverage, but that doesn’t mean he likes seeing it unfold.

He resolutely gets out of the van and opens the back doors to start unloading supplies. Zuko gets out as well and hovers behind Sokka, shifting from foot to foot. Sokka grabs a crate of packaged food and jerks his chin to indicate that Zuko should do the same. Once Zuko is carefully cradling another crate, Sokka leads the way into the small, run-down, community building at the center of town. 

There are tables set up for them to put the crates on so they can be unpacked by other volunteers, and as Sokka and Zuko beeline toward them, the cameras circle like vultures, especially around Zuko. The image of a helpful, socially-conscious prince is a media goldmine that will certainly sell overseas, but Sokka's not convinced that his own people will be so easily deceived.

The attention is so concentrated on Zuko that Sokka doesn’t think he’d see even a glimpse of his own shoulder if he watched the footage back. He decides then and there that he won't be watching any footage back.

Even aside from the nausea-inducing focus on Zuko, Sokka doesn’t understand how any of this would be interesting to watch, let alone film. The whole thing is pretty standard; Sokka and Zuko organize boxes and cans and bags of practical food onto white plastic tables while the townsfolk take their pick of what they’ll bring back to their households.

The only thing that sets this food-run apart from the rest — besides Zuko’s being there, of course — is the fact that all of the supplies have been paid for by the Kaji crown.

Sokka is trying to see it as one good thing to come out of this situation, but all he can see, really, is a transparent act of performative, one-time charity.

Just as the cameramen are wrapping up their B-roll by panning over lines of foods, an older Imiq woman approaches Zuko. Her eyes, which had been carefully searching the tables, are now focused solely on the young prince.

“Your Highness,” she says, while performing a formal Kaji bow.

Zuko seems just as confused as Sokka, but he returns her considerate gesture with a bow of his own.

"Is there any volcanic pepper this week?" she asks him, as if _Zuko_ will be any help at all. "I'm not sure if my request came through this time. You know how computers can be." She waves her hand as if to dismiss the entire concept of computerized systems.

"Uh, I'll check." Zuko’s face is so open, almost kind. Sokka can tell that he hadn't expected to be asked for help.

Sokka throws a glance at the news crews as Zuko searches, but they’re too busy packing up their supplies and thus missing all the action.

Zuko comes back from combing through what’s left of the food holding three tiny, bright red peppers by their stems. “They were hidden behind a box of soda cans,” he explains.

“Oh, how wonderful! Thank you, young man,” the lady says as Zuko hands them to her.

“Those are Kaji peppers,” Zuko observes, lost in his own world for a moment. “They make the best hot chocolate, but you have to melt them into the cream so the flavor isn’t overpowering.”

Sokka has to stop himself from gagging.

“I’ve never heard of that,” she says with wonder, and Sokka thinks she must be crazy for even considering the idea.

Zuko scratches at the back of his head. “It’s not really a common recipe there, either.”

“In that case, I’ll have to see if my husband’s heard of it. He’s from Caldera, you know.” Her smile at Zuko is expectant, as if she thinks he may know her husband. “He’s always craving the spices from home, so I figured I’d try to order some. Our anniversary is not too far away, after all.”

It’s not unheard of, marriages between Kaji workers and Imiq locals, but it’s something that Sokka can’t bring himself to understand no matter how hard he tries. He resolves not to think about it too hard — it gives him a headache.

The lady and Zuko are exchanging bows again in his periphery, so Sokka decides to follow the camera crews’ lead and start packing up. Zuko joins him a moment later, looking soft against the harsh white world surrounding him.

"Did Iroh tell you about that?" Sokka asks as they carry the now-empty crates back to the van.

"What?"

 _About that monstrous idea for hot chocolate_? "About that recipe?"

"Oh, no," Zuko says. "It was my mother, actually."

Sokka’s steps stutter. "Is that who taught you to cook?"

"What? I can't—” Zuko fumbles. “I'm not much of a cook. What made you think that?"

"What about that breakfast you made?” he asks. “You know,” he adds when Zuko still looks lost, “the fish and stuff? Iroh said you made it."

"Oh," Zuko says, placing a crate in the van and then lingering by the open back doors. "I helped, I guess. But, no. I'm pretty useless at that kind of thing. But I used to make hot chocolate with my mom when it got cold out. Not this cold, of course, but...."

Zuko swallows and looks down at his feet.

Sokka feels like he’s been punched in the gut as he remembers what he’d said to Zuko in the storage closet of the Kaji news station. He knows he’d been trying to get back at Zuko for what he’d said, but it’s hard to justify that to himself now when the expression on Zuko’s face is the same one that he’s seen in the mirror countless times.

He tries not to look as affected as he is. He’s already apologized, plus he knows first-hand how, despite the best intentions, sympathy can come across hollow and inauthentic. He sighs.

“It’s always hard, this time of year,” Sokka ventures, his eyes averted. He doesn’t know why he’s saying this, but it’s spilling out before he can do anything to stop it. “When it’s cold out and everyone’s indoors, I mean. Everyone’s aware of, like, this constant absence.” He chokes out the last two words and shakes his head.

Sokka looks back to Zuko to see if he’s just embarrassed himself, but Zuko has a pained smile on his face and is reaching into his inside coat pocket. "You wanted to know what I was reading? On the plane?" he asks as he fishes something out.

He hands a book to Sokka, an old wreck of paperback, with tears all over the cover and dog-eared pages from front to back.

Sokka scrutinizes it. " _Love Amongst the Dragons_? What's with your country and dragons, anyway?"

Zuko let's Sokka’s quip go, too charmed by the book to bicker. "It was my mom's favorite. She's annotated nearly every paragraph,” he says proudly before adding, eyes darting away, “I take it with me whenever I'm away from home."

 _He’s taken it with him, even here, tucked into his coat this whole time_? Sokka thinks with wonder. He hands the book back, suddenly feeling intrusive, and gestures that they should head back to the tables to get more crates.

They’ve taken a few steps, and Sokka is about to respond to Zuko’s openness with some of his own, when a group of Kaji workers suddenly comes out of nowhere and surrounds them.

“Am I seeing this right?” a grizzled man in the center of the gathering fumes. “Is he making you work, Your Highness?”

Sokka keeps his focus on the task at hand, knowing that rising to their provocations will only end in the workers’ favor, but his hands tighten into fists. Zuko is quiet, his whole body gone tense.

“Oh, this is just rich,” another man chimes in. “The same entitled freak who burned down a piece of our history thinks that he can boss the prince around. Don’t listen to him, Your Highness, you can rest. We’ll take care of this.”

“Nobody’s making me do anything,” Zuko spits furiously. Sokka turns to look at him, shocked. He’s seen Zuko angry before, he _knows_ he has, but never like this.

The man in the center quickly backtracks. “Of course not, Your Highness. We didn’t mean to offend. It’s just, you know how these people can be. Always expecting handouts.”

Zuko’s face darkens even further, and Sokka can feel the heat of Zuko’s fire from several feet away. He doesn’t understand why this is affecting Zuko so much. Maybe it’s that they think someone as lowly as Sokka could boss him around?

“None of _these people_ assumed that they could speak so freely to me,” Zuko hisses.

And, huh. Zuko sounds angrier than Sokka feels at the men othering the locals, which shouldn’t be so surprising given that Sokka is used to this kind of vitriol, but Zuko is the _prince of the Kaji Empire_ — so yeah, Sokka’s a little confused.

As the group stumbles over themselves to bow and apologize before hurrying away, Sokka realizes that this is the first time he’s ever seen Zuko do anything like invoke his title.

And he tries not to, but Sokka lets out a laugh as he thinks of the lady who had come to Zuko just a few minutes ago and _had_ spoken so freely to the prince. It doesn’t look like Zuko registers Sokka’s outburst at all, though, his harsh stare still glued to the workers’ backs.

“Hey, jerkface,” Sokka says. "Hey, _hothead_ ," he tries again when there’s no response, snapping his fingers this time. Then, “Zuko!” with a tug at his arm, which finally gets the stupid prince’s attention.

"Walk with me, cool down a little," Sokka says, pulling him away from the van. Once they're several paces away and Zuko looks more like himself, he prods, "What was that?"

Zuko grimaces. "What do you mean _what was that_? Those guys were assholes, and they just lumped me in with them as if I subscribe to their bullshit."

“And you _don't_?"

Zuko turns to him, fire still in his eyes, then softens. "No," he says simply. "I don't."

And the crazy thing is, Sokka can almost believe it. In all the time Sokka has interacted with him, Zuko has never been one to mask his true feelings, and his eyes are so genuine now. But it can never be that simple, can it?

“What about that time you looked me in the eye and told me it’d be better if my father just stopped trying, what was that?” Sokka asks, tone darkening with the memory.

Zuko looks away as guilt washes over him. “That was… That was me projecting my loss of hope onto you. It was a horrible thing to say.”

Sokka blinks. He hadn’t expected that answer. “But you’re the Emperor’s son,” he persists. “If anyone can change things, it’s you. You know that, right?”

Zuko scoffs. “The thing about Emperors is that whatever they say goes.”

They’ve been wandering aimlessly away from the parking lot this whole time, but now Sokka knows their destination. He speeds up, and Zuko hurries after, worried that he’s upset Sokka. But Sokka isn't upset. At least, not in the way that Zuko is thinking.

Sokka leads him to the frozen banks of the river that empties out to the sea and supplies the town of Little Harbor with so much life. He reaches a large wooden pole that is carved from top to bottom in intricate patterns and juts out from the ground right on the riverbank.

Zuko’s worry becomes curiosity as he watches Sokka’s hand trace the surface of the wood. “What is that?” he asks.

Sokka sighs. “This is why I brought you here,” he admits. “It’s a shoreline marker, and those” — he gestures to the dozens of other markers that are placed farther and farther out into the stretching riverbank — “are the markers of each year before.”

Zuko swallows, and Sokka can see the moment the implication sinks in. This might be the first time in Zuko’s life that he’s been confronted with concrete evidence of his father’s impact. It’s _bizarre_.

“See, everyone’s affected by your father’s policies,” Sokka explains. “He has his greedy hands in everything, but when it comes to the environmental devastation, we’re the first hit and the last heard. So hope isn’t just some childish concept to us, and it’s not even about what we _believe_ at this point. Hope is the only thing we have left, and we _can’t afford_ to lose it.”

Zuko runs a hand through his hair, and some strands fall out of his formal bun. “I’m sorry,” he says, emphatic and sincere. “I didn’t know.” And for the first time, it doesn’t sound like an excuse.

Zuko is staring at the markers, utterly entranced, and he moves forward to further examine the closest one, but the shoreline is hard enough to spot even by those accustomed to the landscape.

His foot slips out from under him, and his arms flail in a useless attempt to regain his balance.

Sokka, who’s been keeping a careful eye on Zuko and his movements, catches him before he lands on the unforgiving ice and pulls him back to his feet.

"Maybe _watch where you're going_ , hotstuff?" Sokka huffs as he recenters them and lets go of Zuko’s coat. "The terrain around here will break your bones and not even have the decency to pay your expensive Kaji medical bills afterward."

Zuko relaxes at the teasing tone. “Sorry,” he says. “Thanks for the, uh…” He trails off, and somehow his already flushed cheeks deepen in color.

“Hey, don’t mention it,” Sokka replies, floundering a bit as he’s caught off guard by how, despite all his shivering, Zuko is brimming with warmth. He clears his throat. “Anyway, we better get going if you want to be back at your hotel by dinner.”

”That would be nice,” Zuko says, after a beat, seemingly just to fill the silence.

Sokka nods and guides them back to where the van is parked. As he starts the engine, Sokka realizes that, this time, he doesn’t mind sharing a ride with Zuko. 

* * *

"There are so many lights in this city," Zuko murmurs, speaking up after several minutes of quiet commaradie beneath Sokka's booming playlists. His eyes reflect the golden strings of lanterns that line the spaces between the buildings of downtown, and his voice sounds _wistful_. "All we have back in Caldera are boring streetlights. Nothing like this."

Sokka lifts a shoulder. "It gets pretty gloomy around here. We mostly just need them to see, but they help lift the mood, too. Actually," he says, grin forming as he drives past the park at the center of Harbor City, "you should see the park during the Winter Solstice Festival. There's this giant—"

Zuko, who is listening intently, turns away from the window toward Sokka in concern when he stops talking.

"You know what?" Sokka says, electrified by the spark of an idea. "You should come."

"I should... come?" Zuko repeats.

"To our Winter Solstice Festival," Sokka confirms as his mind races ahead of him. "You want the tribes to buy this story, too, right? Trust me, dude, we can’t just stop seeing each other after this. That would be _way_ too transparent. Even some _Kaji_ folks might catch on."

Zuko glares at him for that last part just like Sokka knew he would, but considers the idea. "I'll think about it," he says.

Sokka forces a casual shrug. “Only if you want to,” he says as he pulls into the hotel parking lot. “But you should definitely come to the Climate Activist gathering in Little Harbor tomorrow. We can be there and back before your plane leaves.”

Zuko’s quiet, so Sokka presses on. “If you’re seen there, unplanned, it could turn the tides _for real_.”

Zuko has gone still. Even when Sokka stops at the hotel entrance, he doesn’t move to get out of the van. After several long moments, he shakes his head, still avoiding Sokka’s eye. “I can’t. It would— It would look bad.”

Sokka’s jaw tightens, and he grips the steering wheel so hard his knuckles go white. Zuko steps out of the van, face turned away.

And now Sokka’s sitting in the driver’s seat, ears hot and gut roiling, and Zuko’s walking away, and all Sokka can think is that he _should’ve known_.

He’s out of the van and on his feet before he even registers he’s moving. He slams his door to get Zuko’s attention. "So what was all that back there, then? You’re on our side, but only when it’s convenient, when it’s planned, when it won’t change anything? You care about helping us today, but you won’t give a shit tomorrow when it matters?”

Zuko stops in his tracks but doesn't face Sokka, doesn't respond.

"Tell me something, if I’m supposed to believe you. How can you say one thing and then do the other? How can you sit so proudly on the sidelines while people suffer around you? _Because of_ you?"

Zuko’s shoulders are tense, and his hands are in fists at his side. “I can’t risk being seen like that,” he forces out.

“Is that seriously what you’re concerned about? Your image?” Sokka spits. “You know, some of us have actual problems.”

“You wouldn’t understand,” Zuko says flatly.

Sokka glares at the back of his head. “I understand perfectly,” he says, quiet and cold. “Find your own way to the airport tomorrow. Walk there, for all I care,” he says with utter contempt, then turns on his heel and slams his way back into the van. 

When Zuko walks through the hotel’s doors and disappears, so does any kindness Sokka has grown to feel toward him. Sokka drives home in a rage, telling himself over and over, _Prince Zuko is the enemy._ How could he have let himself think anything otherwise?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bitches with no car always in the most drama like how did u even get over there?


	7. Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> zukka nation!!! (sister sledge voice) we are family!!!!!!

Sokka’s phone buzzes beside him with a text from Katara: _get off ur ass it’s my turn to pick the movie!!!!!!!_

He sets it facedown on his desk; he'll respond in a minute, but right now he’s switching from homework to online forums to mindless internet scrolling.

It’s been over a month since the week of PR he did with Zuko, when the media went wild printing story after story about them. He’d been excused from his schoolwork for that week, and though his catch-up work hadn’t been too bad the following week, his professors are now assigning insane amounts of papers and projects as winter break inches nearer.

He’s stopped getting a thousand hateful online messages per hour as the public opinion of him has shifted, so there’s that. Most people seem to have bought the friendship charade, or maybe have just stopped caring.

In an ideal world, the discussions they sparked would continue while the whole Sokka-and-Zuko-as-BFFs part would quietly die, the victim of a ruthless 24-hour news cycle. 

Sokka doesn’t really think that will happen, but he’s desperate enough to keep hoping. If he ever has to see the prince again — well, that’s a problem for his future self. Present Sokka is going to continue to work on research papers, deep-dive into online political theory debate boards, and occupy his brain with thousands of distracting thoughts.

About three hours into what’s become his typical nightly routine, Katara pounds on his door so hard that Sokka almost falls out of his chair.

“Get out of that soulless dungeon of yours and come interact with the rest of us! Dad and Bato are here, and they brought dinner home,” she shouts.

Sokka doesn’t really want to leave the zone he’s in, but it’s rare for his dad and Bato to be home for dinner. Plus, they probably got take-out from his favorite restaurant.

He hurries to open his door and is met with Katara’s supremely unimpressed face. “Sorry I missed movie night. I was—” He gestures vaguely behind him.

“Abandoning your family for your new best buddy, I get it,” Katara quips.

Sokka grimaces. She’d caught him scrolling through one of Zuko’s profiles last week and has refused to let it go. “Yes,” he huffs with an eye roll, “because it’s not like I’m a student or anything.”

He intentionally doesn’t mention the discussion boards so that she won’t worry about his mental health or whatever. Sokka knows that he’s prone to overthinking and undersleeping when he gets too deep into his fixations for too long, but it’s nothing for anyone else to worry about. He’s got this. He’s fine.

He follows her downstairs and finds Hakoda and Bato hovering over a spread of greasy take-out food while deliberating who ordered what.

"Classic char is mine," Hakoda says as Sokka walks into the kitchen.

" _No_ ," Bato insists. "That's mine. I ordered it for myself."

Hakoda pouts. "But you know it's my favorite. How can you be so cruel?"

Bato rolls his eyes at Hakoda's theatrics. "See, that's what you said last time, and then you complained about the seasoning the whole time."

"They seasoned it wrong!"

"It's always seasoned like that!"

Hakoda shakes his head. "No. I like when the skin's all crusty and the salmon’s covered in that wildberry jam. Oh, and that white sauce with—"

Bato hands a container over, and Hakoda snatches it and tears the lid off.

"Yes, exactly! My favorite!"

"That's wildberry char. The classic char is _my_ favorite, idiot."

Hakoda shrugs. "If you say so."

"I _do_ say so. Because it's correct."

Katara breaks out into giggles, which, sure, it's an amusing conversation, but not out of the ordinary. Sokka is confused until he glances over to her, and he frowns when he sees that she's absorbed by her phone.

"Oh, _now_ who's the one abandoning their family for their new best buddy?” he grumbles at her. “That's like the fourth time I've caught you staring at your phone today, and I've been locked away in my _soulless dungeon_ for most of it, remember?"

She shoots him a glare, which is rich. She can pick on Sokka for a whole week for a single lapse in judgement, but spirits forbid he call Katara out _once_ on her near-constant communication with this _suspicious mystery person_.

Hakoda claps to get his kids’ attention. "Yes, yes. No distractions! This is quality family time!"

"What's the occasion?" Sokka asks as he takes his container of slow-roasted seal (with extra sauce) and sits down.

"I don't need an _occasion_ to have dinner with my kiddos," Hakoda says with a grin.

"We wrapped up early," Bato explains when Sokka raises a skeptical eyebrow.

"But I thought you were swamped this morning," Katara mumbles through a mouthful of stew.

“Yeah,” Sokka adds between large bites of meat. “I got a text from Suki saying everything was crazy.”

Hakoda brushes their concerns away with a wave of his hand. “Nothing the dynamic duo couldn’t handle.”

“The dynamic duo,” Gran-Gran snorts from the other room. “Ha!” She enters the dining room, crosses to the table to pick up her food (seal roast stew, the same order as Katara), and settles into an empty seat. “Are you boys still calling yourselves that?”

“Of course,” Hakoda says, mock offended. “After all, that’s what we are.”

“And I suspect you’re still falling on your butts trying to pants the local bullies,” she says. “Only now, it’s political rivals, I should think.”

Hakoda bursts out laughing, and Bato frowns at him. “That was one time,” he says.

“That was _you_!” Hakoda cackles.

“It was _one time_.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short, Koda,” Gran-Gran says after another spoonful of food. “Don’t think I’ve forgotten about you coming home after asking Kya out, shaking to the bone in embarrassment, not realizing Bato had put a sign on your back. Oh, what did it say?”

Bato smirks. “ _Please go out with me, I’m desperate_.”

“She refused me because of you!” Hakoda whines as Gran-Gran chuckles to herself.

“She refused you because you were full of yourself,” Bato corrects. “Was, and still _are_.”

“She specifically called me desperate.”

“Yes, but was that _before_ or _after_ you turned around?” Bato asks.

Hakoda starts to answer but stops short, and everyone dissolves into fits of giggles.

Sokka doesn't want to say what he’s thinking, doesn't want to spoil the moment, but the only thing running through his head right now is _When was the last time we were all here together, laughing like this?_

He thinks back and realizes that the last time his father had eaten dinner with them had been the night of the interview with Zuko. But that had been scheduled, a part of his job, so it doesn’t really count.

Sokka wonders how many dinners like this they’ve missed out on. He knows, as surely as he knows that night turns to day, that there was a time when every night had been like this, but that was so long ago that he can barely remember it. 

He stlants his gaze to Katara and studies her. She's so tall. When had she grown? Had Sokka missed it? He can’t have; he's seen her nearly every day of his life. She had never seemed to change, but looking at her now, as she almost chokes on her food and laughs at how happy-silly their dad is with his family, it dawns on him how much she looks like those precious photos of their mother lovingly displayed throughout the house.

Despite the fact that there hasn’t been alcohol in the house for a decade, everyone is acting drunk. And, spirits, it's been so long since they all had a good laugh together. Even when the conversation segues into fond recollections of his mother, the comfortable warmth in his chest remains. It’s not painless, thinking and talking about her, but it’s not painful, either. 

His thoughts unwillingly drift to Zuko, how he had looked, standing in the snow, as he handed Sokka his mother's book; how Sokka had in turn revealed his own feelings of grief and absence during the winter months; and how Sokka has never expressed that to anyone else, not even Katara.

Before Zuko, he'd never met anyone his own age who had gone through anything similar. He’d never thought he could talk about that part of his life with anyone beyond those sitting at this very table. And it's not like he forgives Zuko, but he acknowledges that being understood in that moment had been something of a gift. 

He’s dragged from his thoughts by Katara elbowing him in the rib. “What’s with the face? You look like a wounded yak.”

“Yeah?” he replies, “Well, at least I can keep my food in my mouth when I find something funny.”

That, predictably, earns him another elbow strike as Katara leaves the table to throw her empty container away.

Everyone finishes up their meals, and Bato leaves with a full belly and an even fuller smile, and everyone in the house shifts comfortably into their own habits.

But Sokka has an idea. He stops Katara at the foot of the stairs as she’s heading up to her room. “You still down for movie night?”

Katara rolls her eyes. “Fine,” she says. “But I’m making you watch a cheesy rom-com.”

He gasps. “You wouldn't dare!”

She arches an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t I?”

* * *

When Sokka finally goes back upstairs to his room, he doesn't doesn’t open his laptop or check his phone. He eases onto his bed with a sigh, rests his head on his pillow, and drifts off to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ik ik this chapter was pretty short... i'll make it up to u next time, probably ;)


	8. The Winter Solstice Festival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on a bit of a hiatus bc work is curb-stomping me, but i couldn't NOT post this today, are u kidding me??? ft zuko and sokka as jupiter and saturn

It’s not hard to grill with the braids framing Sokka's face, it just takes a bit of getting used to. Most of his hair is pulled back like usual, but two strands are woven with beads at the end that brush against his jaw at the slightest movement.

Katara had styled it, as she does every year, but she’d headed to the park as soon as she’d finished. Which leaves Sokka alone in their backyard, tasked by their father to make something to bring to the festival’s foodsharing table.

As he stands at the grill and flips the skewers over, the browning beef releases overwhelmingly fragrant steam, and his mouth waters while he waits for the meat to finish cooking. 

Finally, stomach grumbling, he removes the skewers from the grill one at a time, letting extra grease drip onto the grill before placing the skewers in a plastic tub lined with foil.

He walks the few short steps across the yard to the back door and heads into the house. The temperature change is so dramatic that Sokka instantly starts to sweat under his layers, but he ignores it as he drops his grilling utensils in the kitchen sink and heads for the front door. 

When he opens it, he’s alarmed to find someone standing just outside.

"Zuko?" Sokka's voice falters, and then his initial surprise shifts to animosity. "What the hell are you doing here?" he asks harshly, eyes narrowing.

He scrutinizes Zuko. His hair is out of its usual tight bun, soaked in snow, and his fur hood is hanging around his shoulders like a decoration. Every time he exhales, he lets out a large puff of steam.

Hand still resting on the door knob, Sokka stands frozen in the doorway, struck by the realization that, not only is Zuko _here_ , but it looks like he just _ran_ here.

"You invited me," Zuko says once he catches his breath.

Sokka frowns, remembering what Zuko had said and done immediately after that specific event. He can't believe he'd been so foolish. "Yeah, well, consider yourself _uninvited_ ," he says, and pushes past Zuko with a very intentional shoulder knock.

"Wait." Zuko grabs his arm. "I just wanted to give you this." He holds an unlabeled black folder out in front of him.

Sokka startles. He hadn’t realized Zuko was holding anything — he’d been too distracted by his wet hair and useless hood.

Sokka shoves it away and continues down the steps. It’s _great_ that Zuko knows where he lives and can drop by whenever he feels like it. Sokka wonders if he’d be able to file a restraining order against royalty. Probably not. He considers moving houses.

“It’s _important_ ,” Zuko insists, trailing behind like a cold, lost puppy. “It’s about Little Harbor.”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

Zuko catches up and starts walking backwards in front of Sokka. “My father signed off on another drilling location. They start construction in the summer.”

Finally, Sokka stops walking.

The whole world goes still. Somehow, there are simultaneously too many and not enough thoughts running through Sokka’s mind, and his eyes dart around as if he can read his thoughts in the air. He wants to shove Zuko — out of his way, out of his country, out of his life. 

Instead he says, “They can’t just _start construction_. They need a permit. They need _multiple_ permits. They need _direct permission from the Chief_.” He over-enunciates as if he’s speaking to a child.

“And who do you think has been denying their requests for five years now?” Zuko asks, unphased. Again, he pushes the folder to Sokka. “Who do you think they want to get back at after a national embarrassment?”

Sokka’s eyes flick to the file, then back to Zuko’s face. He frowns. “Just what is this exactly?”

Zuko ducks his head, and his hair falls into his face. Then he takes a deep breath, lifts his head, meets Sokka’s eye, and says, “Their plans.”

All the air leaves Sokka’s lungs. “Are you _serious_?” He rips the folder from Zuko and does his best to open it with his free hand.

Zuko shrugs and runs a chapped bare hand through his freezing dark hair. As he does, he glances at Sokka’s braids. 

Sokka remembers himself and backtracks, hoping he hadn’t seemed too eager. “If you really wanted to help, you’d stop this before it comes to my doorstep,” he says, emphasizing the last few words. He tries to hand the plans back.

Zuko doesn’t accept the file. He closes his eyes and his face tightens. “I can’t,” he sighs.

“You can’t.” Sokka hadn’t thought that Zuko could disappoint him any more, but he must have had some faith left in him because it’s just been shattered. “Right.”

“Sokka—”

“You know,” he interupts, “every time I think you might actually be a decent person, it’s like you can’t help but prove me wrong.” It comes out much louder and more jumbled than he’d like, but he soldiers on. “You want to make a difference? Then tell me why you’re trying so hard _not_ to.”

“ _Because I’ve been disinherited!_ ” Zuko shouts.

For a moment it’s dead silent, and both of them stare wide-eyed at each other.

Then Zuko darts his head right and left, surveying the deserted neighborhood. 

“I’ve been disinherited,” he repeats in a voice barely above a whisper as he looks down at his feet. His face is pained. “Privately. Years ago. And I kept trying to earn my title back so that maybe I could actually _do_ something about _any of this_. But then _you_ ” — he lifts his head, fury in his eyes, and jabs an accusatory finger at Sokka — “had to knock into me and destroy a _precious family heirloom_!”

Zuko looks furious, and Sokka’s stomach drops.

And then he can’t help it; he dissolves into laughter, doubled over and delirious. 

Zuko looks absolutely bewildered. “I’m glad you find this funny,” he says, not even attempting to hide the hurt in his voice.

Sokka shakes his head, gasps for air, and tries to contain his giddiness. “The tapestry belonged to your _family_?” 

“Of course it was my family’s.” Zuko’s still exasperated, but the tension has left his shoulders. “It was part of the royal collection—”

Sokka bites into his fist to stifle his cackle.

Zuko's next few breaths are shaky and panicked but then the corner of his mouth twitches, and he collapses into shocked laughter as well. 

It takes them several moments to collect themselves, and even once they have, Sokka feels lighter than he has in ages. 

“You can’t just drop in on me like this and—” Sokka says as he begins to pace. “I can’t— I told my dad I’d bring something to the festival.” He grips the plans, wants to tear open the folder and get to work, but the tray of food under his other arm reminds him of his obligations. “ _Ugh_! I’m dropping _this_ and _you_ off— You can walk to the hotel from the park— Oh!”

Zuko, who has been standing back and watching Sokka slowly lose his mind, blinks his wide eyes and swallows when Sokka stops abruptly.

“You must be freezing. We need to get you warmed up, dude,” Sokka says, and heads back toward his house. Zuko doesn’t immediately follow him, so Sokka gestures for him to do so and adds, “ _Now,_ ideally.”

Sokka charges inside, and Zuko hovers just inside the door. “Just— just stay here for a second,” Sokka says, and then he runs upstairs, leaving Zuko in the foyer.

Sokka flings himself into his room and drops the file on his desk. He opens the top drawer of his wardrobe and digs until he finds what he’s looking for: thick gloves and a warm, wool hat dyed red. He grabs them and starts to run out before remembering the state Zuko’s in.

He snatches a clean towel from yesterday’s laundry and takes off down the stairs.

Zuko looks so pathetic dripping and shivering by the door that Sokka is tempted to towel off his hair for him, but he shakes the ridiculous thought away.

“Um, here,” he says, offering the towel. “For your hair.”

Zuko takes it and rubs it against his head. When he’s done, Sokka gives him the hat and gloves. Zuko is silent as he pulls on new clothes, looking more like a non-operating computer than a person.

Sokka leads them to his pick-up truck and cranks up the heat once Zuko is settled into the passenger seat.

“I’ve never—” Zuko finally speaks up before Sokka backs out of the driveway. Sokka cuts his eyes from the rearview mirror to Zuko. He’s looking down into his hands. “Don’t tell anyone,” he says. “Please.”

“I won’t,” Sokka promises. Of course he won’t. “What about all those public appearances? What about your _guard_?”

Zuko sighs. “My father doesn’t want anything to hurt his image. To the public, we’re the perfect family. It’s all a tremendous lie,” he says and takes a deep breath. “Ming is employed by my uncle. She’s _his_ guard, really. It’s not an ideal situation, but it works.”

“Can I ask why?”

Zuko shifts in his seat and bites at his lip, clearly bracing himself to say something difficult. Sokka decides he doesn’t need to know.

“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “This whole thing, with the media getting involved and everything? That must have been really tough.”

Zuko glances over at him.

“And,” Sokka adds, exhaling heavily. “I’m sorry for my part in all of it.”

Zuko doesn’t respond for a moment, and then he shrugs. “I never really liked that ugly tapestry, anyway.”

He cuts his eyes over to Sokka and shoots him a sly smirk, and then they’re laughing again.

* * *

The entrance to the park is guarded by giant snow sculptures of wolves and fish, and sturdily-built snow structures encircle the entire area, leaving the center open for people to wander across the expansive, white landscape.

Each igloo has open rooms and windows, and some are big enough to accommodate craft stands and art vendors. In one, a man with magnifying eyeglasses hovers over a collection of leather necklaces, haggling with a customer. Another is its own private museum, paintings covering every inch of ice wall. The next door over, an intimidatingly muscular woman with a chainsaw stands beside a display of beautiful, intricate ice sculptures.

Several campfires are placed sporadically, some already crowded with gangs of teens avoiding parents, groups of twenty-somethings waiting for friends, and circles of children enthralled by storytellers’ words.

The early sunset saturates the world; everything is white and orange, snow and fire. Sokka and Zuko stand side by side at the entrance to the park, taking it all in.

Every year, Sokka forgets how much he loves this until he's here again. He decides the plans can wait a few minutes.

“Why is nothing in the center of the park?” Zuko asks after he’s gotten over the awe.

"Well, that's where the big bonfire is set up when the sun goes down. But there's another event before then." Sokka quirks a brow, encouraging Zuko to ask.

Zuko humors him. "What other event?"

Sokka simply says, " _Spoilers_!" with a wink, and leads Zuko across the park.

More than one conversation drops out as they pass. Sokka tries to imagine what they must look like, the (supposed) prince of the Kaji empire and the son of the southern tribe’s Chief. He pushes away his first thought, which is that they probably look good next to each other, and concentrates instead on the hope that Zuko’s presence here adds credibility to the friendship lie.

Zuko is stiff and focused beside him, wearing an expression that Sokka once would have interpreted as cold and formal, but now sees for what it is: extreme discomfort.

Even though the foodsharing table is the biggest woodworking marvel he’s ever seen, Sokka still struggles to find a space to set his skewers. He manages to squeeze them between a bowl of dried berries and herbs and a tray of over-seasoned jerky.

"Oh! You have to try this!" Sokka exclaims, finding two paper bowls and shoveling the dried berry mixture into them. He darts his eyes around, looking for something specific, and then gasps out a “ _Yes_!” when he finds the metal pot beside the table, buried in a pile of snow.

He eagerly lifts the lid and dishes the cold cream into the bowls.

"Ice cream?” Zuko grimaces. “It's the middle of winter."

"It's _tradition_ ," Sokka insists. “Here, stir it in.”

Despite his reluctance, Zuko follows Sokka’s lead, first swirling the berries and cream and then taking a bite.

It’s sweet and fruity, with a hint of earthiness, and it melts on Sokka’s tongue. “So?” he asks. “What do you think?”

Zuko tries to cover his smile with his spoon. “S’good,” he replies through a full mouth.

They’re quiet as they eat, and just as they throw away the empty bowls, a loud horn sounds from the center of the park.

Sokka instantly perks up. “It’s starting.”

“What’s starting?”

Sokka looks back to the prince — _ex-price?_ — and flashes him a devilish grin.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Zuko asks suspiciously.

" _Shhh_. Just go to that side of the park.” Sokka gestures to the far end of the great expanse. “You'll figure it out."

Zuko glares at him, but when Sokka shoos him away again he goes, and Sokka situates himself in the middle of the large line that is forming on this side of the park.

Once there are swarms of people on both sides of the park, an announcer begins to count down. 

“Three!”

“Two!”

“One!”

The horn blares.

Sokka doesn't waste a precious second. He scoops up a handful of snow from the ground and charges onto the battlefield.

Though the countdown has only just ended, the scene in the middle of the park is already chaotic. Next to him, someone's taken down by a snowball to the head.

Sokka tunes it out and focuses instead on finding his target. He just had eyes on him, didn't he? War is always so confusing.

He sees a flash of bright red and — _yes_. It's Zuko in that hat Sokka had grabbed for him.

Sokka runs towards him and catapults a snowball at him, but Zuko ducks away just in time.

As soon as Zuko spots where this attack has come from, he crouches down and grabs some snow of his own.

They hurtle towards each other, both throwing shots that just barely miss their target.

Finally they’re in touching distance, and Sokka acts on his near-constant impulse to push Zuko.

Zuko frowns and is getting his balance back when Sokka sees an opportunity.

He places a foot behind Zuko’s left leg, which is currently holding all his weight, and Zuko falls back into the deep snow.

Sokka kneels over him. "You know what this is?" he asks.

Zuko gulps, eyes drifting down to Sokka’s mouth. "What?"

"Sweet, sweet revenge." And he pummels snow directly in Zuko's face.

Sokka feels something cold hit his cheek, and then Zuko’s hand is shoving his head into the snow. 

“You were saying?” Zuko asks, chuckling.

Sokka huffs. “Okay, okay. You got me.”

Zuko grabs his arm to help him up, and Sokka catches the faint scent of burning leaves clinging to him. “You’re bitter when you lose,” Zuko whispers.

“I didn’t lose,” Sokka insists. He crushes more snow onto Zuko’s hat.

Zuko shakes the snow off and sneezes.

“I can’t believe it!” Sokka gasps, feigning shock. “I almost forgot how much of a weakling you are for a second there.” He grabs Zuko’s arm and is leading him away from the field where the snowball fight is finishing up when he spots a familiar face at a nearby campfire.

Sokka approaches the flames, dragging Zuko behind him. Suki is hovering by the fire, ladling liquid from a metal pot sitting near the flames into metal mugs while the other interns in her program sit together and pass drinks around. Suki looks up and grins at Sokka, but her cheerfulness falters when she spots Zuko behind him. 

“Now hold on there, kiddo,” she says to Sokka, trying for casual. “You eighteen?”

Sokka investigates the contents of the pot: mulled cider. Suki fills another tin mug and hands it to him, her eyes trained on Zuko

“He’s with me.” Sokka shrugs in explanation. “You want some, your majesty?” He registers the change of tone as he says it, hearing something more akin to the pointed insults from back in Caldera.

Suki’s already shoving a drink at Zuko before he can answer, aggressive and inhospitable. Zuko takes the cup and sips at it, eager for something to hide behind.

They’re saved from the awkward silence stretching out between them by the loud groan of an exhaust pipe. Several people withdraw from the center of the park, and when Sokka looks over, he’s excited by the arrival of a massive truck carrying piles of firewood.

Hakoda and Bato, draped in long furs, jump out of the vehicle, and everyone gathers around to unload the lumber. Sokka hopes that the crowd hides him from his fathers’ view.

“Where are my children?” Hakoda booms. Katara steps forward, and the crowd shifts in such a way that the Chief’s eyes find Sokka, who chokes a little at his father’s look. _Well_ , he thinks, _so much for staying hidden_.

“I gotta go,” he tells Zuko under his breath, and pushes through the mass of people to join his family.

He hadn’t realized how long he’s been at the festival until he reaches Hakoda and Katara, and suddenly sorting through firewood as the day ends becomes sorting through firewood as _the day ends_. He gulps down the rest of his cider and tries not to think about the plans sitting on the desk in his bedroom, waiting to be read.

He tries not to think about how carefree and happy his father looks beside him as they build the base of the bonfire, when that will end, and who’s fault it will be when it does. He’s putting a lot of thought into not thinking about things.

After the Niatoks’ have laid down the beginnings of the structure, everyone else joins in and adds to it — well, everyone except Zuko. Sokka glances around and sees him standing off to the side, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

Hakoda leans over to whisper something to Katara, and Sokka uses the momentary distraction to slip away.

He eases to Zuko’s side, sticks in hand, and taps one to Zuko’s chest. “You better add this to the pile if you want to survive the rest of the winter,” he says.

“What?”

Sokka smirks. “Old superstition,” he explains, dry humor thick in his voice.

Zuko looks over to the ever-growing stack of firewood, then to all the people surrounding it. “I don’t know,” he says, hesitation in every line of his body.

“I’ll be right beside you,” Sokka assures. “They’ll think we’re friends.”

Zuko looks down to the branch in his hands and then follows Sokka to the center of the park, where they both add to the pile.

Once everyone has contributed something to the bonfire, Katara steps out in front of Hakoda and clears her throat. 

“As you all know, tonight marks the Winter Solstice,” she begins. Her voice projects clearly without the need for a microphone, and even though a large crowd surrounds her, the air around them becomes welcoming and intimate.

“Long ago, when the winter was a harsher threat, our ancestors worried that they would not survive the darkness. So, when midwinter came, the halfway point in all the coldness, they came together. They told stories to lift their spirits and warmed each other by the fire. They reassured each other that they had survived thus far and, with the strength of community, would continue to. Humans are not solitary creatures; we cannot thrive without companionship. We light this fire to remember those who came before us and to celebrate those who are with us now. May your spirits be bright.”

“You were right,” Zuko murmurs in his ear. Sokka suppresses a shiver as Zuko’s breath brushes his neck. “About her being in her element, I mean. She’s brilliant.”

Katara finishes her speech, and Hakoda touches a lit piece of wood to the kindling. The fire catches quickly, a cheer goes up from the crowd, and music begins to play. Sokka watches one of the interns he’d left by the smaller fire pit refill cups by tipping the entire pot over the mugs rather than using the ladle. He shakes his head with a chuckle, but stops when he sees Katara integrate herself into the crowd right next to — Aang?

“What is that Aang kid doing here?” Sokka hisses to Zuko.

Zuko looks up, perplexed. “You don’t know? We flew in together.”

“You brought a _plus one_?”

Zuko’s questioning brows don’t falter. “He was already invited.”

“Does he not have a way to get around, either?” Sokka asks, which somehow seems to mystify Zuko even more. “Dude, you _ran_ to my house.”

“He left the hotel before I did,” Zuko says. He rubs at the top of his hat. “Honestly, I didn’t think I’d run into you. I didn’t think anyone would be home.”

Sokka is stunned. Zuko had planned to just — What? Anonymously drop off precious, confidential intel at the foot of the Niatoks’ door and then peace out?

Sokka pushes the thought away and turns his attention back to Katara. Aang has lifted her up and is spinning her in the air, and at that moment the siblings’ eyes meet.

He hasn’t spoken to Katara since he’s arrived, and he’s sure that she’s going to have words for him about Zuko being here. He’s not super excited for that conversation.

“I’m gonna go carve something,” Sokka grumbles before downing the rest of his drink and heading for the nearest craft stand.

His attempt to avoid a confrontation is pointless, though, since Katara just follows him. As Sokka takes a woodblock and a carving knife from the table, Katara sits down beside him, arms crossed.

“So, do you want to tell me why you’re hanging out with Prince Zuko?”

“It’s a scheduled thing,” Sokka lies, aggressively chipping at a small hunk of wood instead of meeting her gaze. “Why are _you_ with that bald kid?”

" _Spirits_ , is that why you're over here brooding?" Katara asks. "You can be so overprotective."

"I'm not being overprotective! I’m just confused why you didn’t tell me about him.”

She goes silent for a while, then picks up her own crafting tools.

“Everyone was so caught up in politics... you, especially,” she explains, her voice soft, as she picks at her own piece. “I didn’t know when to bring it up. _If_ I could. It felt wrong. I’m sorry.”

When Sokka turns over to her, she looks so sincere, and his heart sinks. He never wants her to feel that something important to her is an inconvenience to him.

He gives her a small smile and gently elbows her in the side. “You two looked pretty cute over there,” he allows.

Katara returns his smile, blushing a little, but then sighs. “I know you invited Zuko,” she says. At Sokka’s incredulous expression, she adds, “Aang told me.”

Sokka searches the crowd to glare at Aang, already retracting his previous compliment. “So he’s a know-it-all, is he?”

“Apparently they flew in together,” Katara says. “I can’t say I trust the prince, but I’m starting to trust Aang.” She makes deliberate eye contact with Sokka. “And, more than anything, I’ll always trust _you_.”

He nods at her, letting the comfort of her words register, and she touches his shoulder gently before returning to Aang. Sokka looks around and spots Suki and Zuko sitting by the cider pot and heads over to join them.

“You guys having fun together?” he asks.

“I was telling him how his dad’s cheap, shitty foreign policies were responsible for a fire in my hometown, actually,” Suki says bluntly. 

Zuko is sitting stiffly, but says nothing. Sokka scratches at his neck, then reaches for the ladle of the cider pot. “You two want any more cider?” he attempts. “You’d be _hard pressed_ to find a drink that’ll warm you up faster.”

Suki and Zuko emit identical agonized groans, and Sokka’s glad he was able to cut the tension a little. Then Suki moves over to lock her arm in his, and leads him several feet to the side.

“Are you stuck babysitting him all night?”

“I’m not—” Sokka splutters. “I’m not _babysitting_ him.”

“ _Sokka_ ,” she sighs. “You haven’t taken your eyes off him since you came over here.”

Sokka shifts his focus from Zuko’s awkward stance to frown at Suki. “I’m just… making sure everything goes smoothly, with him being here.” 

Suki raises her brow and nods. “Wow, sounds like babysitting.” Before Sokka can correct her again, she says, “Good luck with that,” and walks away. 

Sokka is left looking after her, confused. “I’m not babysitting him,” he says under his breath as he pointedly does not walk toward Zuko.

Instead, he finds a group of Suki’s intern friends to chat with. He doesn’t know them that well, but Sokka is charismatic and there’s a decent amount of alcohol going around, so it’s fine. They talk about unimportant things, which is honestly a relief since Sokka has spent months talking almost exclusively about politics. He lets the conversation wash over him, and drifts from group to group without really noticing time passing. After a few drinks, he forgets that he’s ignoring Zuko and wanders back over to him. 

He gives Zuko a friendly smack on the arm and says, “What’s up, buddy?” a little too loudly. Zuko looks at him as if he is both a life raft and the sunken ship that abandoned him in the unforgiving ocean. Sokka just laughs and drags him over to where the drinks are being poured.

“Here,” Sokka says, handing him a cup, “drink that.”

Zuko does, and promptly starts coughing. “That’s not cider,” he gasps out. Sokka laughs again. Is Zuko _funny_? 

“It definitely isn’t,” Sokka agrees. “It’s moonshine. A southern specialty!”

Zuko stares at the cup like it might attack him, then finally braces himself and takes another sip. 

“ _Ayyy_!” Sokka yells, lifting his own cup into the air.

This attracts enough attention that Suki, Katara, and Aang come over to join them. Sokka takes a moment to thank the universe that there’s enough alcohol in his system to dull any uncomfortable conversation, but before any of them can start talking, a loud crackle cuts through the air. Everyone turns to see someone plugging their phone into a large portable speaker, and the air around them blasts into pop music.

Everyone gets the same idea at once, and immediately this section of the snow-covered park is packed with drunk idiots dancing. Aang quickly gets into the groove of the music, and convinces Katara to do the same. Sokka jumps into a groove beside Suki, but sees that Zuko’s standing still, looking extremely unsure.

“Come on, Zuko! Dance with us!” Sokka reaches his hands out to grab Zuko’s and does a simple partnered twist. Zuko’s arms hang limply, and he barely moves in response to Sokka’s manhandling. 

“Have you never danced before?” Sokka demands.

“Not like this!” Zuko shoots back, voice straining to be heard over the music. 

Sokka throws his head back and laughs. “Okay, I’ll teach you. Do what I do. First, you have to loosen up.” He jumps up and down, shaking his arms and head around. Zuko stares at him. 

“You look ridiculous,” he says. “I’m not doing that.”

Sokka puts on his best puppy dog eyes. “ _Please?_ ”

Zuko rolls his eyes, but when Sokka starts jumping around again, he joins in. After a few beats, some of the tension leaves Zuko’s limbs. Sokka nods his approval. “Okay, now start moving your hips around.” 

Zuko does his best to copy Sokka’s movements, but his face quickly flushes and he looks away. 

“That was good!” Sokka encourages. “Keep going.” He reaches over and puts his hand on Zuko’s hips to guide his motions. Immediately, Zuko freezes. Sokka laughs, but lets go. “That’s the opposite of what I said, dude. Just watch me.” 

Zuko swallows and says, “I am.”

Sokka grins at him and lets the pulse of the music flood through the veins and carry his limbs wherever they want to be. Eventually, Zuko seems to relax again and starts to mimic Sokka’s movements in a stiffer, more awkward way. Sokka turns to Suki, who is dancing with Katara, and says, “Suki! _Suki_. I don’t think Zuko’s ever partied before. I had to show him how to dance.”

Suki gives him a look he can’t decipher and mutters something about hoping real babysitting isn’t like this. He shrugs off his confusion. 

“Wanna dance?” he asks her, holding out his hand. She grins wickedly at him, and follows his lead.

After dancing like a horny couple for a few songs, Sokka opens his eyes and sees Zuko looking at him, expression unreadable, no longer dancing. They meet each other’s gaze, and Zuko ducks his head down and disappears from sight. Sokka doesn’t know what to make of that, so he turns back to the group. 

He takes a break from dancing after a couple more songs, and sees that Aang is in the middle of an honestly impressive spin that he easily manages to transition it into a goofy mess of haphazard arm motions. Katara giggles, and he continues the silly movements, intentionally this time. 

Sokka rolls his eyes and glances at the area where Zuko had been, but there’s no sign of that red wool hat anywhere. He leans over to Aang and asks, “Did you see where Zuko went?” but has to repeat himself because, in the daze of the dance party, the music and chatter has gotten louder.

Aang shakes his head, and Sokka ignores the watchful eye of Katara, who’d definitely overheard.

“I’m gonna go look,” he divulges.

“May the spirits bless you on your journey, my good dude,” Aang says seriously. 

Sokka, suspicious, grabs his cup and takes a sip: water. He narrows his eyes. “I’m watching you.” 

“Okay!” chirps Aang. “See you around!”

He heads off, shaking his head at the oddity of that kid. He keeps wondering how Zuko and Aang are friends, and now he thinks part of it might be that Aang naturally absorbs all the energy of bustling crowds that Zuko deflects.

Sokka takes the newly carved token out of his pocket to fiddle with as he searches for Zuko. He checks the edges of the dancing crowd, the line at the foodsharing table, the handful of art rooms that are still open to visitors, but he’s nowhere.

He’s… worried isn’t exactly the word. Bothered. Curious. He was having fun teaching Zuko how to dance. His eyes catch something far away, and he follows his hazy tunnel vision across the snowy field without thinking twice about it. 

Sokka finds Zuko sitting on one of the logs surrounding an abandoned campfire. He's alone, all the storytellers and stoners and lovestruck couples having wandered off to join the festivities or gone home to bed, drunk on some combination of alcohol, love, exhaustion, and recklessness.

The firelight shines a warm, golden glow on Zuko’s face. Against the intensity of a roaring fire, he somehow looks softer. His eyes, cloudy from alcohol, dance with light in a way Sokka can't begin to describe. He finds his own gaze drifting to the vicious burn on the left side of Zuko’s face.

Maybe it's like this:

Sokka remembers a time back when his mother was alive, back when the world had made any kind of sense at all. Whenever they went to the beach, he would run out to the waves, wild and reckless and free. His mother would cling to him and scold him when she caught up. He had never understood why she made such a fuss — she had taught him how to swim, after all.

But he had been so, so young, and he was careless. He never looked behind him to make sure Katara was safe. And one day Katara had followed him out, just to prove that she could, just to smile proudly up at him afterwards and say she was a big kid, same as him.

She nearly drowned.

Sokka had pulled her from the worst of it just in time and watched as she vomited out the seawater that had come so close to claiming her. He was ready to never visit the ocean again, but Katara cried and yearned for the sea, and he wasn't going to leave her, not again. He had never understood how she was so unaffected by a near death experience. But maybe that wasn’t it.

Sokka looks at Zuko, soft and comfortable against the flames, face half burned, and thinks: _maybe we're drawn to what terrifies us_.

He steps forward and promptly trips over a log.

Zuko startles and blinks at him, trying to focus his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry," Sokka says, waving his hands out in front of him. "Pfft. You know. _Logs_."

He sits down next to Zuko. "What are you doing over here? Party's that way, dude." He jerks his thumb over his shoulder.

Zuko fiddles with the sleeves of his sweater pulled down over his hands. “It’s just a lot, sometimes.”

Sokka considers asking what _it_ is, but he thinks he knows. People, crowds, being simultaneously known and unknown. Distantly, Sokka wishes he could do something to help, something to turn the _a lot_ into _just right_.

Zuko looks upward and sighs, his breath a stark white against the dark surrounding them.

"Your moon is bigger than the one back home," he says under his breath, alcohol slurring his speech.

And Sokka’s drunk, too, but he’s not _that_ far gone. "You are an idiot," he says.

"No." Zuko shakes his head. "I'm serious."

“It’s the same moon, dumbass.”

Zuko shoots him a look. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Sokka directs his attention to the moon. Zuko's right; it's full and bright and beautiful, and larger even than the great bonfire it's illuminating.

"It _looks_ bigger here, but it isn't. It's actually a well documented illusion," Sokka says. "Our brains are trained to think that objects higher in the sky, surrounded by nothing but vast open space, are smaller; and when we see those same objects lower in the horizon, surrounded by normal things like trees and buildings, we compensate for perspective and assume they must now be physically larger."

Zuko is studying his face when Sokka looks back, confused but maybe fond, too? The moonshine is affecting Sokka’s deciphering skills.

“What does that have to do with Caldera?” Zuko asks.

“Okay, picture it like this—” Sokka scooches closer and slants his forearm out in front of him, the carved token held in his fist. “So this is the Earth, right? See how we’re at an angle?”

Zuko focuses as best he can, smiling a little.

Sokka spins a finger around his tight grip. “And imagine this is the moon,” he begins, suddenly feeling way too inebriated to describe this properly. He shakes out a breath and continues, “You see how, like, it’s kind of at its own angle, too?”

He stops spinning the finger and rests his thumb on a knuckle. “If you’re standing at a Pole, like this, the moon would appear closer to you. But if you’re at the equator...” He inches his thumb down to the middle of the hand representing Earth, but keeps his finger hovering over the same spot. “The moon on the same night would look smaller and farther away, but it’s the same relative distance, we’re just looking at it from different horizons.”

Sokka looks over to see if Zuko’s still following, and Zuko is looking intently at Sokka’s hands.

“Or, I guess,” Sokka fumbles, face hot from the flames. “An easier way of putting it is, um…” Why is he feeling so nervous under Zuko’s gaze? “Here, hold your thumb out up to it, like this.”

Sokka moves his closed fist toward the sky and sticks up his thumb, and Zuko mirrors the gesture. 

“You can cover the entirety of that giant space rock up there with just your thumbnail, and when you’re back in Caldera, wherever the moon is in the sky, no matter how large it appears, it’ll only ever be the same size as your nail,” Sokka whispers, still in awe even though he’s known this for years. “That’s why you can’t take an accurate photo of what you’re seeing from just your phone.”

Zuko considers this. After a beat, he says, “What’s in your hand?”

Sokka turns his hand over to Zuko and releases his grip around the token. Zuko’s face scrunches up as he takes the carving in his own hand to investigate it, and the warm pressure where his fingers graze Sokka’s palm lingers for a few seconds.

“It’s a… bear?” Zuko guesses.

Sokka rolls his eyes and turns the wood block. “A fish. See? I’m practicing.”

Zuko examines it further. “It sucks.”

“Which is why I’m _practicing_.”

Zuko scoffs. “Okay, then. What are you _practicing_ for?”

Sokka grins. “One day I’ll have to carve a betrothal necklace. The girl of my dreams lives up north, and it’s a tradition there. Her family is pretty traditional, I mean, probably the most traditional—”

“What about Suki?” Zuko interrupts, and it’s only then that Sokka realizes he was starting to ramble.

He blinks. “Suki’s my ex.”

“You dance like that with your ex? I don’t get it.”

Sokka laughs at Zuko’s tone. “And I wouldn’t expect you to, buddy. Keeping exes as friends is a talent for the socially gifted.”

Zuko snorts, but it seems to be in spite of himself.

“What about you?” Sokka ribs. “You say you’re not dating Mai, yet there’s date pics of you two all over your socials.” What’s left of his rational thinking stops him from saying any more; sober Sokka would’ve done anything for Zuko not to know he’d been internet stalking him.

Zuko turns his gaze back to the fire. “That’s just for appearances, like everything else. I mean, Mai’s my friend, but that’s it. I don’t date. It’s not that I don’t want to,” he adds, clumsily, like Sokka’s opinion on this is important for some reason. “I’m just… lacking for options.”

Sokka can’t help but laugh. “Right, because it’s so hard to get a date when you’re a prince.”

Zuko cuts his eyes over to Sokka. “The options I’d like...” he says, dragging the words out, “Aren’t really options at all.

Sokka blinks. The moonshine has clearly gotten to the both of them, making them too confused to communicate clearly. “What?”

Zuko looks away with a small shake of his head. After a beat, he says, “So you and this northern girl… Are you two dating?”

“Yue? I wish,” Sokka says. “We don’t really” — he cringes — “talk. I mean, she lives on the other side of the world.”

Zuko tilts his head. “I live in Caldera, and you talk to me.”

“That’s different. I’m _forced_ to.”

Belatedly, drunkenly, Sokka registers that that was rude. He also registers that he kind of cares about not being rude to Zuko now.

“And Caldera’s only _halfway_ around the world, genius,” he adds with a lighter tone, as he flushes from the fire’s heat.

Zuko doesn’t seem to care one way or the other. His eyes are focused past their campfire, and Sokka follows his line of sight to see Aang’s bright orange beanie bobbing towards the park’s exit.

“Looks like the only other person I know here is leaving,” Zuko says.

He stands up, and Sokka follows suit, wanting, for some reason, for Zuko to stay.

“Uh... Zuko...”

Zuko turns, and his expectant face is too much to handle just now, so Sokka avoids his direct gaze.

“I didn’t thank you earlier,” he mumbles. “For the plans.”

He braves a glance at Zuko’s face, and there’s something about the blotchy pink spread across it that places an odd stutter in his chest.

Zuko shrugs. “It was nothing.”

They pause, standing across each other, and something inside Sokka is still screaming at him to not let Zuko go. It’s weird. _Sokka doesn’t want him to go_.

Zuko clears his throat. “We could keep each other updated about it,” he suggests, and it sounds like a question. He pulls his phone out of his jacket pocket.

“Oh, yeah, sure.” Sokka rushes to do the same, and the exchange of numbers is fuzzy and warm and feels like a dream.

Zuko breaks the spell. “I should go,” he finally says.

“Yeah,” Sokka responds, because it’s all that comes to him. Then he grins. “I’ll text you.”

He doesn’t think he’s imagining Zuko’s smile as he walks away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... so who wants to tell them they're losing this race? (rwrb stans.. i'm sorry... i DID tag my slow burn sdfhjdsh)  
> my CP maria wrote the dancing section of this chapter, pls thank for the gourmet food!! *chef's kiss*  
> i went thru every stage of mess while writing and editing this chapter u have no idea... hope u get a fraction of that energy


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